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diff --git a/9267-h/9267-h.htm b/9267-h/9267-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..068e13e --- /dev/null +++ b/9267-h/9267-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6697 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Chip, of the Flying U, by B. M. Bower (b. M. Sinclair) + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Chip, of the Flying U, by B. M. Bower + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Chip, of the Flying U + +Author: B. M. Bower + +Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9267] +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIP, OF THE FLYING U *** + + + + +Produced by Matthew H. Heller and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + CHIP, OF THE FLYING U + </h1> + <h2> + By B. M. Bower (B. M. Sinclair) + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + AUTHOR OF “The Lure of the Dim Trails,” “Her Prairie Knight,” “The + Lonesome Trail,” etc. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. — The Old Man's Sister. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. — Over the “Hog's Back.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. — Silver. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. — An Ideal Picture. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. — In Silver's Stall. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. — The Hum of Preparation. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. — Love and a Stomach Pump. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. — Prescriptions. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. — Before the Round-up. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. — What Whizzer Did. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. — Good Intentions. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. — “The Last Stand.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. — Art Critics. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. — Convalescence. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. — The Spoils of Victory. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. — Weary Advises. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. — When a Maiden Wills. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. — Dr. Cecil Granthum. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. — Love Finds Its Hour. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. — The Old Man's Sister. + </h2> + <p> + The weekly mail had just arrived at the Flying U ranch. Shorty, who had + made the trip to Dry Lake on horseback that afternoon, tossed the bundle + to the “Old Man” and was halfway to the stable when he was called back + peremptorily. + </p> + <p> + “Shorty! O-h-h, Shorty! Hi!” + </p> + <p> + Shorty kicked his steaming horse in the ribs and swung round in the path, + bringing up before the porch with a jerk. + </p> + <p> + “Where's this letter been?” demanded the Old Man, with some excitement. + James G. Whitmore, cattleman, would have been greatly surprised had he + known that his cowboys were in the habit of calling him the Old Man behind + his back. James G. Whitmore did not consider himself old, though he was + constrained to admit, after several hours in the saddle, that rheumatism + had searched him out—because of his fourteen years of roughing it, + he said. Also, there was a place on the crown of his head where the hair + was thin, and growing thinner every day of his life, though he did not + realize it. The thin spot showed now as he stood in the path, waving a + square envelope aloft before Shorty, who regarded it with supreme + indifference. + </p> + <p> + Not so Shorty's horse. He rolled his eyes till the whites showed, snorted + and backed away from the fluttering, white object. + </p> + <p> + “Doggone it, where's this been?” reiterated James G., accusingly. + </p> + <p> + “How the devil do I know?” retorted Shorty, forcing his horse nearer. “In + the office, most likely. I got it with the rest to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “It's two weeks old,” stormed the Old Man. “I never knew it to fail—if + a letter says anybody's coming, or you're to hurry up and go somewhere to + meet somebody, that letter's the one that monkeys around and comes when + the last dog's hung. A letter asking yuh if yuh don't want to get rich in + ten days sellin' books, or something, 'll hike along out here in no time. + Doggone it!” + </p> + <p> + “You got a hurry-up order to go somewhere?” queried Shorty, mildly + sympathetic. + </p> + <p> + “Worse than that,” groaned James G. “My sister's coming out to spend the + summer—t'-morrow. And no cook but Patsy—and she can't eat in + the mess house—and the house like a junk shop!” + </p> + <p> + “It looks like you was up against it, all right,” grinned Shorty. Shorty + was a sort of foreman, and was allowed much freedom of speech. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody's got to meet her—you have Chip catch up the creams so he + can go. And send some of the boys up here to help me hoe out a little. + Dell ain't used to roughing it; she's just out of a medical school—got + her diploma, she was telling me in the last letter before this. She'll be + finding microbes by the million in this old shack. You tell Patsy I'll be + late to supper—and tell him to brace up and cook something ladies + like—cake and stuff. Patsy'll know. I'd give a dollar to get that + little runt in the office—” + </p> + <p> + But Shorty, having heard all that it was important to know, was clattering + down the long slope again to the stable. It was supper time, and Shorty + was hungry. Also, there was news to tell, and he was curious to see how + the boys would take it. He was just turning loose the horse when supper + was called. He hurried back up the hill to the mess house, performed hasty + ablutions in the tin wash basin on the bench beside the door, scrubbed his + face dry on the roller towel, and took his place at the long table within. + </p> + <p> + “Any mail for me?” Jack Bates looked up from emptying the third spoon of + sugar into his coffee. + </p> + <p> + “Naw—she didn't write this time, Jack.” Shorty reached a long arm + for the “Mulligan stew.” + </p> + <p> + “How's the dance coming on?” asked Cal Emmett. + </p> + <p> + “I guess it's a go, all right. They've got them coons engaged to play. The + hotel's fixing for a big crowd, if the weather holds like this. Chip, Old + Man wants you to catch up the creams, after supper; you've got to meet the + train to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Which train?” demanded Chip, looking up. “Is old Dunk coming?” + </p> + <p> + “The noon train. No, he didn't say nothing about Dunk. He wants a bunch of + you fellows to go up and hoe out the White House and slick it up for + comp'ny—got to be done t'-night. And Patsy, Old Man says for you t' + git a move on and cook something fit to eat; something that ain't plum + full uh microbes.” + </p> + <p> + Shorty became suddenly engaged in cooling his coffee, enjoying the varied + emotions depicted on the faces of the boys. + </p> + <p> + “Who's coming?” + </p> + <p> + “What's up?” + </p> + <p> + Shorty took two leisurely gulps before he answered: + </p> + <p> + “Old Man's sister's coming out to stay all summer—and then some, + maybe. Be here to-morrow, he said.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee whiz! Is she pretty?” This from Cal Emmett. + </p> + <p> + “Hope she ain't over fifty.” This from Jack Bates. + </p> + <p> + “Hope she ain't one of them four-eyed school-ma'ams,” added Happy Jack—so + called to distinguish him from Jack Bates, and also because of his + dolorous visage. + </p> + <p> + “Why can't some one else haul her out?” began Chip. “Cal would like that + job—and he's sure welcome to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Cal's too dangerous. He'd have the old girl dead in love before he got + her over the first ridge, with them blue eyes and that pretty smile of + his'n. It's up to you, Splinter—Old Man said so.” + </p> + <p> + “She'll be dead safe with Chip. HE won't make love to her,” retorted Cal. + </p> + <p> + “Wonder how old she is,” repeated Jack Bates, half emptying the syrup + pitcher into his plate. Patsy had hot biscuits for supper, and Jack's + especial weakness was hot biscuits and maple syrup. + </p> + <p> + “As to her age,” remarked Shorty, “it's a cinch she ain't no spring + chicken, seeing she's the Old Man's sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she a schoolma'am?” Happy Jack's distaste for schoolma'ams dated from + his tempestuous introduction to the A B C's, with their daily + accompaniment of a long, thin ruler. + </p> + <p> + “No, she ain't a schoolma'am. She's a darn sight worse. She's a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, come off!” Cal Emmett was plainly incredulous. + </p> + <p> + “That's right. Old Man said she's just finished taking a course uh + medicine—what'd yuh call that?” + </p> + <p> + “Consumption, maybe—or snakes.” Weary smiled blandly across the + table. + </p> + <p> + “She got a diploma, though. Now where do you get off at?” + </p> + <p> + “Yeah—that sure means she's a doctor,” groaned Cal. + </p> + <p> + “By golly, she needn't try t' pour any dope down ME,” cried a short, fat + man who took life seriously—a man they called Slim, in fine irony. + </p> + <p> + “Gosh, I'd like to give her a real warm reception,” said Jack Bates, who + had a reputation for mischief. “I know them Eastern folks, down t' the + ground. They think cow-punchers wear horns. Yes, they do. They think we're + holy terrors that eat with our six-guns beside our plates—and the + like of that. They make me plum tired. I'd like to—wish we knew her + brand.” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you that,” said Chip, cynically. “There's just two bunches to + choose from. There's the Sweet Young Things, that faint away at sight of a + six-shooter, and squawk and catch at your arm if they see a garter snake, + and blush if you happen to catch their eye suddenly, and cry if you don't + take off your hat every time you see them a mile off.” Chip held out his + cup for Patsy to refill. + </p> + <p> + “Yeah—I've run up against that brand—and they're sure all + right. They suit ME,” remarked Cal. + </p> + <p> + “That don't seem to line up with the doctor's diploma,” commented Weary. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she's the other kind then—and if she is, the Lord have mercy + on the Flying U! She'll buy her some spurs and try to rope and cut out and + help brand. Maybe she'll wear double-barreled skirts and ride a man's + saddle and smoke cigarettes. She'll try to go the men one better in + everything, and wind up by making a darn fool of herself. Either kind's + bad enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll bet she don't run in either bunch,” began Weary. “I'll bet she's a + skinny old maid with a peaked nose and glasses, that'll round us up every + Sunday and read tracts at our heads, and come down on us with both feet + about tobacco hearts and whisky livers, and the evils and devils wrapped + up in a cigarette paper. I seen a woman doctor, once—she was + stopping at the T Down when I was line-riding for them—and say, she + was a holy fright! She had us fellows going South before a week. I + stampeded clean off the range, soon as my month was up.” + </p> + <p> + “Say,” interrupted Cal, “don't yuh remember that picture the Old Man got + last fall, of his sister? She was the image of the Old Man—and + mighty near as old.” + </p> + <p> + Chip, thinking of the morrow's drive, groaned in real anguish of spirit. + </p> + <p> + “You won't dast t' roll a cigarette comin' home, Chip,” predicted Happy + Jack, mournfully. “Yuh want t' smoke double goin' in.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't THINK I'll smoke double going in,” returned Chip, dryly. “If the + old girl don't like my style, why the walking isn't all taken up.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, Chip,” suggested Jack Bates, “you size her up at the depot, and, if + she don't look promising, just slack the lines on Antelope Hill. The + creams 'll do the rest. If they don't, we'll finish the job here.” + </p> + <p> + Shorty tactfully pushed back his chair and rose. “You fellows don't want + to git too gay,” he warned. “The Old Man's just beginning to forget about + the calf-shed deal.” Then he went out and shut the door after him. The + boys liked Shorty; he believed in the old adage about wisdom being bliss + at certain times, and the boys were all the better for his living up to + his belief. He knew the Happy Family would stop inside the limit—at + least, they always had, so far. + </p> + <p> + “What's the game?” demanded Cal, when the door closed behind their + indulgent foreman. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's this. (Pass the syrup, Happy.) T'morrow's Sunday, so we'll have + time t' burn. We'll dig up all the guns we can find, and catch up the + orneriest cayuses in our strings, and have a real, old lynching bee—sabe?” + </p> + <p> + “Who yuh goin' t' hang?” asked Slim, apprehensively. “Yuh needn't think + I'LL stand for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, don't get nervous. There ain't power enough on the ranch t' pull yuh + clear of the ground. We ain't going to build no derrick,” said Jack, + witheringly. “We'll have a dummy rigged up in the bunk house. When Chip + and the doctor heave in sight on top of the grade, we'll break loose down + here with our bronks and our guns, and smoke up the ranch in style. We'll + drag out Mr. Strawman, and lynch him to the big gate before they get + along. We'll be 'riddling him with bullets' when they arrive—and by + that time she'll be so rattled she won't know whether it's a man or a mule + we've got strung up.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to cut down your victim before I get there,” grinned Chip. “I + never could get the creams through the gate, with a man hung to the frame; + they'd spill us into the washout by the old shed, sure as fate.” + </p> + <p> + “That'd be all right. The old maid would sure know she was out West—we + need something to add to the excitement, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “If the Old Man's new buggy is piled in a heap, you'll wish you had cut + out some of the excitement,” retorted Chip. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Splinter. We won't hang him there at all. That old cottonwood + down by the creek would do fine. It'll curdle her blood like Dutch cheese + to see us marching him down there—and she can't see the hay sticking + out of his sleeves, that far off.” + </p> + <p> + “What if she wants to hold an autopsy?” bantered Chip. + </p> + <p> + “By golly, we'll stake her to a hay knife and tell her to go after him!” + cried Slim, suddenly waking up to the situation. + </p> + <p> + The noon train slid away from the little, red depot at Dry Lake and curled + out of sight around a hill. The only arrival looked expectantly into the + cheerless waiting room, gazed after the train, which seemed the last link + between her and civilization, and walked to the edge of the platform with + a distinct frown upon the bit of forehead visible under her felt hat. + </p> + <p> + A fat young man threw the mail sack into a weather-beaten buggy and drove + leisurely down the track to the post office. The girl watched him out of + sight and sighed disconsolately. All about her stretched the rolling grass + land, faintly green in the hollows, brownly barren on the hilltops. Save + the water tank and depot, not a house was to be seen, and the silence and + loneliness oppressed her. + </p> + <p> + The agent was dragging some boxes off the platform. She turned and walked + determinedly up to him, and the agent became embarrassed under her level + look. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't there anyone here to meet me?” she demanded, quite needlessly. “I + am Miss Whitmore, and my brother owns a ranch, somewhere near here. I + wrote him, two weeks ago, that I was coming, and I certainly expected him + to meet me.” She tucked a wind-blown lock of brown hair under her hat + crown and looked at the agent reproachfully, as if he were to blame, and + the agent, feeling suddenly that somehow the fault was his, blushed + guiltily and kicked at a box of oranges. + </p> + <p> + “Whitmore's rig is in town,” he said, hastily. “I saw his man at dinner. + The train was reported late, but she made up time.” Grasping desperately + at his dignity, he swallowed an abject apology and retreated into the + office. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore followed him a few steps, thought better of it, and paced + the platform self-pityingly for ten minutes, at the end of which the + Flying U rig whirled up in a cloud of dust, and the agent hurried out to + help with the two trunks, and the mandolin and guitar in their canvas + cases. + </p> + <p> + The creams circled fearsomely up to the platform and stood quivering with + eagerness to be off, their great eyes rolling nervously. Miss Whitmore + took her place beside Chip with some inward trepidation mingled with her + relief. When they were quite ready and the reins loosened suggestively, + Pet stood upon her hind feet with delight and Polly lunged forward + precipitately. + </p> + <p> + The girl caught her breath, and Chip eyed her sharply from the corner of + his eye. He hoped she was not going to scream—he detested screaming + women. She looked young to be a doctor, he decided, after that lightning + survey. He hoped to goodness she wasn't of the Sweet Young Thing order; he + had no patience with that sort of woman. Truth to tell, he had no patience + with ANY sort of woman. + </p> + <p> + He spoke to the horses authoritatively, and they obeyed and settled to a + long, swinging trot that knew no weariness, and the girl's heart returned + to its normal action. + </p> + <p> + Two miles were covered in swift silence, then Miss Whitmore brought + herself to think of the present and realized that the young man beside her + had not opened his lips except to speak once to his team. She turned her + head and regarded him curiously, and Chip, feeling the scrutiny, grew + inwardly defiant. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore decided, after a close inspection, that she rather liked his + looks, though he did not strike her as a very amiable young man. Perhaps + she was a bit tired of amiable young men. His face was thin, and refined, + and strong—the strength of level brows, straight nose and square + chin, with a pair of paradoxical lips, which were curved and womanish in + their sensitiveness; the refinement was an intangible expression which + belonged to no particular feature but pervaded the whole face. As to his + eyes, she was left to speculate upon their color, since she had not seen + them, but she reflected that many a girl would give a good deal to own his + lashes. + </p> + <p> + Of a sudden he turned his eyes from the trail and met her look squarely. + If he meant to confuse her, he failed—for she only smiled and said + to herself: “They're hazel.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think we ought to introduce ourselves?” she asked, composedly, + when she was quite sure the eyes were not brown. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe.” Chip's tone was neutrally polite. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore had suspected that he was painfully bashful, after the + manner of country young men. She now decided that he was not; he was + passively antagonistic. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you know that I'm Della Whitmore,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Chip carefully brushed a fly off Polly's flank with the whip. + </p> + <p> + “I took it for granted. I was sent to meet a Miss Whitmore at the train, + and I took the only lady in sight.” + </p> + <p> + “You took the right one—but I'm not—I haven't the faintest + idea who you are.” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Claude Bennett, and I'm happy to make your acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it—you don't look happy,” said Miss Whitmore, + inwardly amused. + </p> + <p> + “That's the proper thing to say when you've been introduced to a lady,” + remarked Chip, noncommittally, though his lips twitched at the corners. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore, finding no ready reply to this truthful statement, + remarked, after a pause, that it was windy. Chip agreed that it was, and + conversation languished. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore sighed and took to studying the landscape, which had become + a succession of sharp ridges and narrow coulees, water-worn and bleak, + with a purplish line of mountains off to the left. After several miles she + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “What is that animal over there? Do dogs wander over this wilderness + alone?” + </p> + <p> + Chip's eyes followed her pointing finger. + </p> + <p> + “That's a coyote. I wish I could get a shot at him—they're an awful + pest, out here, you know.” He looked longingly at the rifle under his + feet. “If I thought you could hold the horses a minute—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can't! I—I'm not accustomed to horses—but I can shoot a + little.” + </p> + <p> + Chip gave her a quick, measuring glance. The coyote had halted and was + squatting upon his haunches, his sharp nose pointed inquisitively toward + them. Chip slowed the creams to a walk, raised the gun and laid it across + his knees, threw a shell into position and adjusted the sight. + </p> + <p> + “Here, you can try, if you like,” he said. “Whenever you're ready I'll + stop. You had better stand up—I'll watch that you don't fall. Ready? + Whoa, Pet!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore did not much like the skepticism in his tone, but she stood + up, took quick, careful aim and fired. + </p> + <p> + Pet jumped her full length and reared, but Chip was watching for some such + performance and had them well under control, even though he was compelled + to catch Miss Whitmore from lurching backward upon her baggage behind the + seat—which would have been bad for the guitar and mandolin, if not + for the young woman. + </p> + <p> + The coyote had sprung high in air, whirled dizzily and darted over the + hill. + </p> + <p> + “You hit him,” cried Chip, forgetting his prejudice for a moment. He + turned the creams from the road, filled with the spirit of the chase. Miss + Whitmore will long remember that mad dash over the hilltops and into the + hollows, in which she could only cling to the rifle and to the seat as + best she might, and hope that the driver knew what he was about—which + he certainly did. + </p> + <p> + “There he goes, sneaking down that coulee! He'll get into one of those + washouts and hide, if we don't head him off. I'll drive around so you can + get another shot at him,” cried Chip. He headed up the hill again until + the coyote, crouching low, was fully revealed. + </p> + <p> + “That's a fine shot. Throw another shell in, quick! You better kneel on + the seat, this time—the horses know what's coming. Steady, Polly, my + girl!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore glanced down the hill, and then, apprehensively, at the + creams, who were clanking their bits, wild-eyed and quivering. Only their + master's familiar voice and firm grip on the reins held them there at all. + Chip saw and interpreted the glance, somewhat contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course if you're AFRAID—” + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore set her teeth savagely, knelt and fired, cutting the + sentence short in his teeth and forcing his undivided attention to the + horses, which showed a strong inclination to bolt. + </p> + <p> + “I think I got him that time,” said she, nonchalantly, setting her hat + straight—though Chip, with one of his quick glances, observed that + she was rather white around the mouth. + </p> + <p> + He brought the horses dexterously into the road and quieted them. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you going to get my coyote?” she ventured to ask. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. The road swings back, down that same coulee, and we'll pass + right by it. Then I'll get out and pick him up, while you hold the + horses.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll hold those horses yourself,” returned Miss Whitmore, with + considerable spirit. “I'd much rather pick up the coyote, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + Chip said nothing to this, whatever he may have thought. He drove up to + the coyote with much coaxing of Pet and Polly, who eyed the gray object + askance. Miss Whitmore sprang out and seized the animal by its coarse, + bushy tail. + </p> + <p> + “Gracious, he's heavy!” she exclaimed, after one tug. + </p> + <p> + “He's been fattening up on Flying U calves,” remarked Chip, his foot upon + the brake. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore knelt and examined the cattle thief curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Look,” she said, “here's where I hit him the first time; the bullet took + a diagonal course from the shoulder back to the other side. It must have + gone within an inch of his heart, and would have finished him in a short + time, without that other shot—that penetrated his brain, you see; + death was instantaneous.” + </p> + <p> + Chip had taken advantage of the halt to roll a cigarette, holding the + reins tightly between his knees while he did so. He passed the loose edge + of the paper across the tip of his tongue, eying the young woman curiously + the while. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be pretty well onto your job,” he remarked, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to be,” she said, laughing a little. “I've been learning the + trade ever since I was sixteen.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? You began early.” + </p> + <p> + “My Uncle John is a doctor. I helped him in the office till he got me into + the medical school. I was brought up in an atmosphere of antiseptics and + learned all the bones in Uncle John's 'Boneparte'—the skeleton, you + know—before I knew all my letters.” She dragged the coyote close to + the wheel. + </p> + <p> + “Let me get hold of the tail.” Chip carefully pinched out the blaze of his + match and threw it away before he leaned over to help. With a quick lift + he landed the animal, limp and bloody, squarely upon the top of Miss + Whitmore's largest trunk. The pointed nose hung down the side, the white + fangs exposed in a sinister grin. The girl gazed upon him proudly at + first, then in dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's dripping blood all over my mandolin case—and I just know + it won't come out!” She tugged frantically at the instrument. + </p> + <p> + “'Out, damned spot!'” quoted Chip in a sepulchral tone before he turned to + assist her. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore let go the mandolin and stared blankly up at him, and Chip, + offended at her frank surprise that he should quote Shakespeare, shut his + lips tightly and relapsed into silence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. — Over the “Hog's Back.” + </h2> + <p> + “That's Flying U ranch,” volunteered Chip, as they turned sharply to the + right and began to descend a long grade built into the side of a steep, + rocky bluff. Below them lay the ranch in a long, narrow coulee. Nearest + them sprawled the house, low, white and roomy, with broad porches and wide + windows; further down the coulee, at the base of a gentle slope, were the + sheds, the high, round corrals and the haystacks. Great, board gates were + distributed in seemingly useless profusion, while barbed wire fences + stretched away in all directions. A small creek, bordered with cottonwoods + and scraggly willows, wound aimlessly away down the coulee. + </p> + <p> + “J. G. doesn't seem to have much method,” remarked Miss Whitmore, after a + critical survey. “What are all those log cabins scattered down the hill + for? They look as though J. G. had a handful that he didn't want, and just + threw them down toward the stable and left them lying where they happened + to fall.” + </p> + <p> + “It does, all right,” conceded Chip. “They're the bunk house—where + us fellows sleep—and the mess house, where we eat, and then come the + blacksmith shop and a shack we keep all kinds of truck in, and—” + </p> + <p> + “What—in—the world—” + </p> + <p> + A chorus of shouts and shots arose from below. A scurrying group of + horsemen burst over the hill behind the house, dashed half down the slope, + and surrounded the bunk house with blood-curdling yells. Chip held the + creams to a walk and furtively watched his companion. Miss Whitmore's eyes + were very wide open; plainly, she was astonished beyond measure at the + uproar. Whether she was also frightened, Chip could not determine. + </p> + <p> + The menacing yells increased in volume till the very hills seemed to cower + in fear. Miss Whitmore gasped when a limp form was dragged from the cabin + and lifted to the back of a snorting pony. + </p> + <p> + “They've got a rope around that man's neck,” she breathed, in a horrified + half whisper. “Are—they—going to HANG him?” + </p> + <p> + “It kinda looks that way, from here,” said Chip, inwardly ashamed. All at + once it struck him as mean and cowardly to frighten a lady who had + traveled far among strangers and who had that tired droop to her mouth. It + wasn't a fair game; it was cheating. Only for his promise to the boys, he + would have told her the truth then and there. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore was not a stupid young woman; his very indifference told her + all that she needed to know. She tore her eyes from the confused jumble of + gesticulating men and restive steeds to look sharply at Chip. He met her + eyes squarely for an instant, and the horror oozed from her and left only + amused chagrin that they should try to trick her so. + </p> + <p> + “Hurry up,” she commanded, “so I can be in at the death. Remember, I'm a + doctor. They're tying him to his horse—he looks half dead with + fright.” + </p> + <p> + Inwardly she added: “He overacts the part dreadfully.” + </p> + <p> + The little cavalcade in the coulee fired a spectacular volley into the air + and swept down the slope like a dry-weather whirlwind across a patch of + alkali ground. Through the big gate and up the road past the stables they + thundered, the prisoner bound and helpless in their midst. + </p> + <p> + Then something happened. A wide-open River Press, flapping impotently in + the embrace of a willow, caught the eye of Banjo, a little blaze—faced + bay who bore the captive. He squatted, ducked backward so suddenly that + his reins slipped from Slim's fingers and lowered his head between his + white front feet. His rider seemed stupid beyond any that Banjo had ever + known—and he had known many. Snorting and pitching, he was away + before the valiant band realized what was happening in their midst. The + prisoner swayed drunkenly in the saddle. At the third jump his hat flew + off, disclosing the jagged end of a two-by-four. + </p> + <p> + The Happy Family groaned as one man and gave chase. + </p> + <p> + Banjo, with almost human maliciousness, was heading up the road straight + toward Chip and the woman doctor—and she must be a poor doctor + indeed, and a badly frightened one, withal, if she failed to observe a + peculiarity in the horse thief's cranium. + </p> + <p> + Cal Emmett dug his spurs into his horse and shot by Slim like a + locomotive, shouting profanity as he went. + </p> + <p> + “Head him into the creek,” yelled Happy Jack, and leaned low over the neck + of his sorrel. + </p> + <p> + Weary Willie stood up in his stirrups and fanned Glory with his hat. “Yip, + yee—e-e! Go to it, Banjo, old boy! Watch his nibs ride, would yuh? + He's a broncho buster from away back.” Weary Willie was the only man of + them all who appeared to find any enjoyment in the situation. + </p> + <p> + “If Chip only had the sense to slow up and give us a chance—or spill + that old maid over the bank!” groaned Jack Bates, and plied whip and spur + to overtake the runaway. + </p> + <p> + Now the captive was riding dizzily, head downward, frightening Banjo half + out of his senses. What he had started as a grim jest, he now continued in + deadly earnest; what was this uncanny semblance of a cow-puncher which he + could not unseat, yet which clung so precariously to the saddle? He had no + thought now of bucking in pure devilment—he was galloping madly, his + eyes wild and staring. + </p> + <p> + Of a sudden, Chip saw danger lurking beneath the fun of it. He leaned + forward a little, got a fresh grip on the reins and took the whip. + </p> + <p> + “Hang tight, now—I'm going to beat that horse to the Hog's Back.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore, laughing till the tears stood in her eyes, braced herself + mechanically. Chip had been laughing also—but that was before Banjo + struck into the hill road in his wild flight from the terror that rode in + the saddle. + </p> + <p> + A smart flick of the whip upon their glossy backs, and the creams sprang + forward at a run. The buggy was new and strong, and if they kept the road + all would be well—unless they met Banjo upon the narrow ridge + between two broad-topped knolls, known as the Hog's Back. Another tap, and + the creams ran like deer. One wheel struck a cobble stone, and the buggy + lurched horribly. + </p> + <p> + “Stop! There goes my coyote!” cried Miss Whitmore, as a gray object slid + down under the hind wheel. + </p> + <p> + “Hang on or you'll go next,” was all the comfort she got, as Chip braced + himself for the struggle before him. The Hog's Back was reached, but Banjo + was pounding up the hill beyond, his nostrils red and flaring, his sides + reeking with perspiration. Behind him tore the Flying U boys in a vain + effort to head him back into the coulee before mischief was done. + </p> + <p> + Chip drew his breath sharply when the creams swerved out upon the broad + hilltop, just as Banjo thundered past with nothing left of his rider but + the legs, and with them shorn of their plumpness as the hay dribbled out + upon the road. + </p> + <p> + A fresh danger straightway forced itself upon Chip's consciousness. The + creams, maddened by the excitement, were running away. He held them + sternly to the road and left the stopping of them to Providence, inwardly + thanking the Lord that Miss Whitmore did not seem to be the screaming kind + of woman. + </p> + <p> + The “vigilantes” drew hastily out of the road and scudded out of sight + down a gully as the creams lunged down the steep grade and across the + shallow creek bed. Fortunately the great gate by the stable swung wide + open and they galloped through and up the long slope to the house, coming + more under control at every leap, till, by a supreme effort, Chip brought + them, panting, to a stand before the porch where the Old Man stood boiling + over with anxiety and excitement. James G. Whitmore was not a man who took + things calmly; had he been a woman he would have been called fussy. + </p> + <p> + “What in—what was you making a race track out of the grade for,” he + demanded, after he had bestowed a hasty kiss beside the nose of his + sister. + </p> + <p> + Chip dropped a heavy trunk upon the porch and reached for the guitar + before he answered. + </p> + <p> + “I was just trying those new springs on the buggy.” + </p> + <p> + “It was very exciting,” commented Miss Whitmore, airily. “I shot a coyote, + J. G., but we lost it coming down the hill. Your men were playing a funny + game—hare and hounds, it looked like. Or were they breaking a new + horse?” + </p> + <p> + The Old Man looked at Chip, intelligence dawning in his face. There was + something back of it all, he knew. He had been asleep when the uproar + began, and had reached the door only in time to see the creams come down + the grade like a daylight shooting star. + </p> + <p> + “I guess they was breaking a bronk,” he said, carelessly; “you've got + enough baggage for a trip round the world, Dell. I hope it ain't all dope + for us poor devils. Tell Shorty I want t' see him, Chip.” + </p> + <p> + Chip took the reins from the Old Man's hands, sprang in and drove back + down the hill to the stables. + </p> + <p> + The “reception committee,” as Chip sarcastically christened them, rounded + up the runaway and sneaked back to the ranch by the coulee trail. With + much unseemly language, they stripped the saddle and a flapping pair of + overalls off poor, disgraced Banjo, and kicked him out of the corral. + </p> + <p> + “That's the way Jack's schemes always pan out,” grumbled Slim. “By golly, + yuh don't get me into another jackpot like that!” + </p> + <p> + “You might explain why you let that” (several kinds of) “cayuse get away + from you!” retorted Jack, fretfully. “If you'd been onto your job, things + would have been smooth as silk.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonder what the old maid thought,” broke in Weary, bent on preserving + peace in the Happy Family. + </p> + <p> + “I'll bet she never saw us at all!” laughed Cal. “Old Splinter gave her + all she wanted to do, hanging to the rig. The way he came down that grade + wasn't slow. He just missed running into Banjo on the Hog's Back by the + skin of the teeth. If he had, it'd be good-by, doctor—and Chip, too. + Gee, that was a close shave!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Happy Jack, mournfully, “if we don't all get the bounce for + this, I miss my guess. It's a little the worst we've done yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Except that time we tin-canned that stray steer, last winter,” amended + Weary, chuckling over the remembrance as he fastened the big gate behind + them. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that was another of Jack's fool schemes,” put in Slim. “Go and + tin-can a four-year-old steer and let him take after the Old Man and put + him on the calf shed, first pass he made. Old Man was sure hot about that—by + golly, it didn't help his rheumatism none.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll sure go straight in the air over this,” reiterated Happy Jack, with + mournful conviction. + </p> + <p> + “There's old Splinter at the bunk house—drawing our pictures, I'll + bet a dollar. Hey, Chip! How you vas, already yet?” sung out Weary, whose + sunny temper no calamity could sour. + </p> + <p> + Chip glanced at them and went on cutting the leaves of a late magazine + which he had purloined from the Dry Lake barber. Cal Emmett strode up and + grabbed the limp, gray hat from his head and began using it for a + football. + </p> + <p> + “Here! Give that back!” commanded Chip, laughing. “DON'T make a dish rag + of my new John B. Stetson, Cal. It won't be fit for the dance.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee! It don't lack much of being a dish rag, now, if I'm any judge. Now! + Great Scott!” He held it at arm's length and regarded it derisively. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was new two years ago,” explained Chip, making an ineffectual + grab at it. + </p> + <p> + Cal threw it to him and came and sat down upon his heels to peer over + Chip's arm at the magazine. + </p> + <p> + “How's the old maid doctor?” asked Jack Bates, leaning against the door + while he rolled a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Scared plum to death. I left the remains in the Old Man's arms.” + </p> + <p> + “Was she scared, honest?” Cal left off studying the “Types of Fair Women.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say when we broke loose?” Jack drew a match sharply along a + log. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. Well, yes, she said 'Are they going to H-A-N-G that man?'” + Chip's voice quavered the words in a shrill falsetto. + </p> + <p> + “The deuce she did!” Jack indulged in a gratified laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What did she say when you put the creams under the whip, up there? I + don't suppose the old girl is wise to the fact that you saved her neck + right then—but you sure did. You done yourself proud, Splinter.” Cal + patted Chip's knee approvingly. + </p> + <p> + Chip blushed under the praise and hastily answered the question. + </p> + <p> + “She hollered out: 'Stop! There goes my COYOTE!'” + </p> + <p> + “Her COYOTE?” + </p> + <p> + “HER coyote?” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil was she doing with a COYOTE?” + </p> + <p> + The Happy Family stood transfixed, and Chip's eyes were seen to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “HER COYOTE. Did any of you fellows happen to see a dead coyote up on the + grade? Because if you did, it's the doctor's.” + </p> + <p> + Weary Willie walked deliberately over and seized Chip by the shoulders, + bringing him to his feet with one powerful yank. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you try throwing any loads into THIS crowd, young man. Answer me + truly-s'help yuh. How did that old maid come by a coyote—a dead + one?” + </p> + <p> + Chip squirmed loose and reached for his cigarette book. “She shot it,” he + said, calmly, but with twitching lips. + </p> + <p> + “Shot it!” Five voices made up the incredulous echo. + </p> + <p> + “What with?” demanded Weary when he got his breath. + </p> + <p> + “With my rifle. I brought it out from town today. Bert Rogers had left it + at the barber shop for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee whiz! And them creams hating a gun like poison! She didn't shoot from + the rig, did she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Chip, “she did. The first time she didn't know any better—and + the second time she was hot at me for hinting she was scared. She's a + spunky little devil, all right. She's busy hating me right now for running + the grade—thinks I did it to scare her, I guess. That's all some + fool women know.” + </p> + <p> + “She's a howling sport, then!” groaned Cal, who much preferred the Sweet + Young Things. + </p> + <p> + “No—I sized her up as a maverick.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she look like?” + </p> + <p> + “How old is she?” + </p> + <p> + “I never asked her age,” replied Chip, his face lighting briefly in a + smile. “As to her looks, she isn't cross-eyed, and she isn't four-eyed. + That's as much as I noticed.” After this bald lie he became busy with his + cigarette. “Give me that magazine, Cal. I didn't finish cutting the + leaves.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. — Silver. + </h2> + <p> + Miss Della Whitmore gazed meditatively down the hill at the bunk house. + The boys were all at work, she knew. She had heard J. G. tell two of them + to “ride the sheep coulee fence,” and had been consumed with amazed + curiosity at the order. Wherefore should two sturdy young men be commanded + to ride a fence, when there were horses that assuredly needed exercise—judging + by their antics—and needed it badly? She resolved to ask J. G. at + the first opportunity. + </p> + <p> + The others were down at the corrals, branding a few calves which belonged + on the home ranch. She had announced her intention of going to look on, + and her brother, knowing how the boys would regard her presence, had told + her plainly that they did not want her. He said it was no place for girls, + anyway. Then he had put on a very dirty pair of overalls and hurried down + to help for he was not above lending a hand when there was extra work to + be done. + </p> + <p> + Miss Della Whitmore tidied the kitchen and dusted the sitting room, and + then, having a pair of mischievously idle hands and a very feminine + curiosity, conceived an irrepressible desire to inspect the bunk house. + </p> + <p> + J. G. would tell her that, also, was no place for girls, she supposed, but + J. G. was not present, so his opinion did not concern her. She had been at + the Flying U ranch a whole week, and was beginning to feel that its + resources for entertainment—aside from the masculine contingent, + which held some promising material—were about exhausted. She had + climbed the bluffs which hemmed the coulee on either side, had selected + her own private saddle horse, a little sorrel named Concho, and had made + friends with Patsy, the cook. She had dazzled Cal Emmett with her wiles + and had found occasion to show Chip how little she thought of him; a + highly unsatisfactory achievement, since Chip calmly over-looked her + whenever common politeness permitted him. + </p> + <p> + There yet remained the unexplored mystery of that little cabin down the + slope, from which sounded so much boylike laughter of an evening. She + watched and waited till she was positive the coast was clear, then clapped + an old hat of J. G.'s upon her head and ran lightly down the hill. + </p> + <p> + With her hand upon the knob, she ran her eye critically along the outer + wall and decided that it had, at some remote date, been treated to a coat + of whitewash; gave the knob a sudden twist, with a backward glance like a + child stealing cookies, stepped in and came near falling headlong. She had + not expected that remoteness of floor common to cabins built on a side + hill. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” She pulled herself together and looked curiously about her. What + struck her at first was the total absence of bunks. There were a couple of + plain, iron bedsteads and two wooden ones made of rough planks. There was + a funny-looking table made of an inverted coffee box with legs of + two-by-four, and littered with a characteristic collection of bachelor + trinkets. There was a glass lamp with a badly smoked chimney, a pack of + cards, a sack of smoking tobacco and a box of matches. There was a tin box + with spools of very coarse thread, some equally coarse needles and a pair + of scissors. There was also—and Miss Whitmore gasped when she saw it—a + pile of much-read magazines with the latest number of her favorite upon + the top. She went closer and examined them, and glanced around the room + with doubting eyes. There were spurs, quirts, chaps and queer-looking bits + upon the walls; there were cigarette stubs and burned matches innumerable + upon the rough, board floor, and here in her hand—she turned the + pages of her favorite abstractedly and a paper fluttered out and fell, + face upward, on the floor. She stooped and recovered it, glanced and + gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + It was only a pencil sketch done on cheap, unruled tablet paper, but her + mind dissolved into a chaos of interrogation marks and exclamation points—with + the latter predominating more and more the longer she looked. + </p> + <p> + It showed blunt-topped hills and a shallow coulee which she remembered + perfectly. In the foreground a young woman in a smart tailored costume, + the accuracy of which was something amazing, stood proudly surveying a + dead coyote at her feet. In a corner of the picture stood a weather-beaten + stump with a long, thin splinter beside it on the ground. Underneath was + written in characters beautifully symmetrical: “The old maid's credential + card.” + </p> + <p> + There was no gainsaying the likeness; even the rakish tilt of the jaunty + felt hat, caused by the wind and that wild dash across country, was + painstakingly reproduced. And the fanciful tucks on the sleeve of the gown—“and + I didn't suppose he had deigned so much as a glance!” was her first + coherent thought. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore's soul burned with resentment. No woman, even at + twenty-three, loves to be called “the old maid”—especially by a + keen-witted young man with square chin and lips with a pronounced curve to + them. And whoever supposed the fellow could draw like that—and + notice every tiny little detail without really looking once? Of course, + she knew her hat was crooked, with the wind blowing one's head off, + almost, but he had no business: “The old maid's credential card!”—“Old + maid,” indeed! + </p> + <p> + “The audacity of him!” + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore wheeled quickly, her heart in the upper part of her throat, + judging by the feel of it. Chip himself stood just inside the door, eying + her coldly. + </p> + <p> + “I was not speaking,” said Miss Whitmore, haughtily, in futile denial. + </p> + <p> + To this surprising statement Chip had nothing to say. He went to one of + the iron beds, stooped and drew out a bundle which, had Miss Whitmore + asked him what it was, he would probably have called his “war sack.” She + did not ask; she stood and watched him, though her conscience assured her + it was a dreadfully rude thing to do, and that her place was up at the + house. Miss Whitmore was frequently at odds with her conscience; at this + time she stood her ground, backed by her pride, which was her chiefest + ally in such emergencies. + </p> + <p> + When he drew a huge, murderous-looking revolver from its scabbard and + proceeded calmly to insert cartridge after cartridge, Miss Whitmore was + constrained to speech. + </p> + <p> + “Are you—going to—SHOOT something?” + </p> + <p> + The question struck them both as particularly inane, in view of his + actions. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” replied he, without looking up. He whirled the cylinder into + place, pushed the bundle back under the bed and rose, polishing the barrel + of the gun with a silk handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore hoped he wasn't going to murder anyone; he looked keyed up + to almost any desperate deed. + </p> + <p> + “Who—what are you going to shoot?” Really, the question asked + itself. + </p> + <p> + Chip raised his eyes for a fleeting glance which took in the pencil sketch + in her hand. Miss Whitmore observed that his eyes were much darker than + hazel; they were almost black. And there was, strangely enough, not a + particle of curve to his lips; they were thin, and straight, and stern. + </p> + <p> + “Silver. He broke his leg.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” There was real horror in her tone. Miss Whitmore knew all about + Silver from garrulous Patsy. Chip had rescued a pretty, brown colt from + starving on the range, had bought him of the owner, petted and cared for + him until he was now one of the best saddle horses on the ranch. He was a + dark chestnut, with beautiful white, crinkly mane and tail and white feet. + Miss Whitmore had seen Chip riding him down the coulee trail only + yesterday, and now—Her heart ached with the pity of it. + </p> + <p> + “How did it happen?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. He was in the little pasture. Got kicked, maybe.” Chip + jerked open the door with a force greatly in excess of the need of it. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore started impulsively toward him. Her eyes were not quite + clear. + </p> + <p> + “Don't—not yet! Let me go. If it's a straight break I can set the + bone and save him.” + </p> + <p> + Chip, savage in his misery, regarded her over one square shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a veterinary surgeon, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore felt her cheeks grow hot, but she stood her ground. + </p> + <p> + “I am not. But a broken bone is a broken bone, whether it belongs to a man—or + some OTHER beast!” + </p> + <p> + “Y—e-s?” + </p> + <p> + Chip's way of saying yes was one of his chief weapons of annihilation. He + had a peculiar, taunting inflection which he could give to it, upon + occasion, which caused prickles of flesh upon the victim. To say that Miss + Whitmore was not utterly quenched argues well for her courage. She only + gasped, as though treated to an unexpected dash of cold water, and went + on. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I might save him if you'd let me try. Or are you really eager to + shoot him?” + </p> + <p> + Chip's muscles shrank. Eager to shoot him—Silver, the only thing + that loved and understood him? + </p> + <p> + “You may come and look at him, if you like,” he said, after a breath or + two. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore overlooked the tolerance of the tone and stepped to his + side, mechanically clutching the sketch in her fingers. It was Chip, + looking down at her from his extra foot of height, who called her + attention to it. + </p> + <p> + “Are you thinking of using that for a plaster?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore started and blushed, then, with an uptilt of chin: + </p> + <p> + “If I need a strong irritant, yes!” She calmly rolled the paper into a + tiny tube and thrust it into the front of her pink shirt-waist for want of + a pocket—and Chip, watching her surreptitiously, felt a queer grip + in his chest, which he thought it best to set down as anger. + </p> + <p> + Silently they hurried down where Silver lay, his beautiful, gleaming mane + brushing the tender green of the young grass blades. He lifted his head + when he heard Chip's step, and neighed wistfully. Chip bent over him, + black agony in his eyes. Miss Whitmore, looking on, realized for the first + time that the suffering of the horse was a mere trifle compared to that of + his master. Her eyes wandered to the loaded revolver which bulged his + pocket behind, and she shuddered—but not for Silver. She went closer + and laid her hand upon the shimmery mane. The horse snorted nervously and + struggled to rise. + </p> + <p> + “He's not used to a woman,” said Chip, with a certain accent of pride. “I + guess this is the closest he's ever been to one. You see, he's never had + any one handle him but me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he certainly is no lady's horse,” said Miss Whitmore, + good-naturedly. Somehow, in the last moment, her attitude toward Chip had + changed considerably. “Try and make him let me feel the break.” + </p> + <p> + With much coaxing and soothing words it was accomplished, and it did not + take long, for it was a front leg, broken straight across, just above the + fetlock. Miss Whitmore stood up and smiled into the young man's eyes, + conscious of a desire to bring the curve back into his lips. + </p> + <p> + “It's very simple,” she declared, cheerfully. “I know I can cure him. We + had a colt at home with his leg broken the same way, and he was entirely + cured—and doesn't even limp. Of course,” she added, honestly, “Uncle + John doctored him—but I helped.” + </p> + <p> + Chip drew the back of his gloved hand quickly across his eyes and + swallowed. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Whitmore—if you could save old Silver—” + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore, the self-contained young medical graduate, blinked rapidly + and found urgent need of tucking in wind-blown, brown locks, with her back + to the tall cow-puncher who had unwittingly dropped his mask for an + instant. She took off J. G.'s old hat, turned it clean around twice and + put it back exactly as it was before; unless the tilt over her left ear + was a trifle more pronounced. Show me the woman who can set a hat straight + upon her head without aid of a mirror! + </p> + <p> + “We must get him up from there and into a box stall. There is one, isn't + there?” + </p> + <p> + “Y—e-s—” Chip hesitated. “I wouldn't ask the Old—your + brother, for the use of it, though; not even for Silver.” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” returned she, promptly. “I never feel any compunction about + asking for what I want—if I can't get it any other way. I can't + understand why you wanted to shoot—you must have known this bone + could be set.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't WANT to—” Chip bent over and drove a fly from Silver's + shoulder. “When a horse belonging to the outfit gets crippled like that, + he makes coyote bait. A forty-dollar cow-puncher can't expect any better + for his own horse.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll GET better, whatever he may expect. I'm just spoiling for something + to practice on, anyway—and he's such a beauty. If you can get him + up, lead him to the stable while I go and tell J. G. and get some one to + help.” She started away. + </p> + <p> + “Whom shall I get?” she called back. + </p> + <p> + “Weary, if you can—and Slim's a good hand with horses, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Slim—is that the tall, lanky man?” + </p> + <p> + “No—he's the short, fat one. That bean-pole is Shorty.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore fixed these facts firmly in her memory and ran swiftly to + where rose all the dust and noise from the further corral. She climbed up + until she could look conveniently over the top rail. The fence seemed to + her dreadfully high—a clear waste of straight, sturdy poles. + </p> + <p> + “J. G—e-e-e!” + </p> + <p> + “Baw—h-h-h!” came answer from a wholly unexpected source as a big, + red cow charged and struck the fence under her feet a blow which nearly + dislodged her from her perch. The cow recoiled a few steps and lowered her + head truculently. + </p> + <p> + “Scat! Shoo, there! Go on away, you horrid old thing you! Oh, J. G—e-e-e!” + </p> + <p> + Weary, who was roping, had just dragged a calf up to the fire and was + making a loop to catch another when the cow made a second charge at the + fence. He dashed in ahead of her, his horse narrowly escaping an ugly gash + from her long, wicked horns. As he dodged he threw his rope with the + peculiar, back-hand twist of the practiced roper, catching her by the head + and one front foot. Straight across the corral he shot to the end of a + forty-foot rope tied fast to the saddle horn. The red cow flopped with a + thump which knocked all desire for trouble out of her for the time. Shorty + slipped the rope off and climbed the fence, but the cow only shook her + aching sides and limped sullenly away to the far side of the corral. J. G. + and the boys had shinned up the fence like scared cats up a tree when the + trouble began, and perched in a row upon the top. The Old Man looked + across and espied his sister, wide-eyed and undignified, watching the + outcome. + </p> + <p> + “Dell! What in thunder the YOU doing on that fence?” he shouted across the + corral. + </p> + <p> + “What in thunder are you doing on the fence, J. G.?” she flung back at + him. + </p> + <p> + The Old Man climbed shamefacedly down, followed by the others. “Is that + what you call 'getting put in the clear'?” asked she, genially. “I see now—it + means clear on the top rail.” + </p> + <p> + “You go back to the house and stay there!” commanded J. G., wrathfully. + The boys were showing unmistakable symptoms of mirth, and the laugh was + plainly against the Old Man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” came her voice, honey-sweet and calm. “Shoo that cow this way + again, will you, Mr..Weary? I like to watch J. G. shin up the fence. It's + good for him; it makes one supple, and J. G.'s actually getting fat.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurry along with that calf!” shouted the Old Man, recovering the branding + iron and turning his back on his tormentor. + </p> + <p> + The boys, beyond grinning furtively at one another, behaved with quite + praiseworthy gravity. Miss Whitmore watched while Weary dragged a spotted + calf up to the fire and the boys threw it to the ground and held it until + the Old Man had stamped it artistically with a smoking U. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, J. G.!” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you gone yet? What d'yuh want?” + </p> + <p> + “Silver broke his leg.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh. I knew that long ago. Chip's gone to shoot him. You go on to the + house, doggone it! You'll have every cow in the corral on the fight. That + red waist of yours—” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't red, it's pink—a beautiful rose pink. If your cows don't + like it, they'll have to be educated up to it. Chip isn't either going to + shoot that horse, J. G. I'm going to set his leg and cure him—and + I'm going to keep him in one of your box stalls. There, now!” + </p> + <p> + Cal Emmett took a sudden fit of coughing and leaned his forehead weakly + against a rail, and Weary got into some unnecessary argument with his + horse and bolted across to the gate, where his shoulders were seen to + shake—possibly with a nervous chill; the bravest riders are + sometimes so affected. Nobody laughed, however. Indeed, Slim seemed + unusually serious, even for him, while Happy Jack looked positively in + pain. + </p> + <p> + “I want that short, fat man to help” (Slim squirmed at this blunt + identification of himself) “and Mr. Weary, also.” Miss Whitmore might have + spoken with a greater effect of dignity had she not been clinging to the + top of the fence with two dainty slipper toes thrust between the rails not + so very far below. Under the circumstances, she looked like a pretty, + spoiled little schoolgirl. + </p> + <p> + “Oh. You've turned horse doctor, have yuh?” J. G. leaned suddenly upon his + branding iron and laughed. “Doggone it, that ain't a bad idea. I've got + two box stalls, and there's an old gray horse in the pasture—the + same old gray horse that come out uh the wilderness—with a bad case + uh string-halt. I'll have some uh the boys ketch him up and you can start + a horsepital!” + </p> + <p> + “Is that supposed to be a joke, J. G.? I never can tell YOUR jokes by ear. + If it is, I'll laugh. I'm going to use whatever I need and you can do + without Mr.—er—those two men.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go ahead. The horse don't belong to ME, so I'm willing you should + practice on him a while. Say! Dell! Give him that truck you've been + pouring down me for the last week. Maybe he'll relish the taste of the + doggone stuff—I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you've labeled THAT a 'Joke—please laugh here,'” sighed + Miss Whitmore, plaintively, climbing gingerly down. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. — An Ideal Picture. + </h2> + <p> + “I guess I'll go down to Denson's to-day,” said J. G. at the breakfast + table one morning. “Maybe we can get that grass widow to come and keep + house for us.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want any old grass widow to keep house,” protested Della. “I'm + getting along well enough, so long as Patsy bakes the bread, and meat, and + cake, and stuff. It's just fun to keep house. The only trouble is, there + isn't half enough to keep me busy. I'm going to get a license to practice + medicine, so if there's any sickness around I can be of some use. You say + it's fifty miles to the nearest doctor. But that needn't make a grass + widow necessary. I can keep house—it looks better than when I came, + and you know it.” Which remark would have hurt the feelings of several + well-meaning cow-punchers, had they overheard it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I ain't finding fault with your housekeeping—you do pretty well + for a green hand. But Patsy'll have to go with the round-up when it + starts, and what men I keep on the ranch will have to eat with us. That's + the way I've been used to fixing things; I was never so good I couldn't + eat at the same table with my men; if they wasn't fit for my company I + fired 'em and got fellows that was. I've had this bunch a good long while, + now. You can do all right with just me, but you couldn't cook for two or + three men; you can't cook good enough, even if it wasn't too much work.” + J. G. had a blunt way of stating disagreeable facts, occasionally. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, get your grass widow by all means,” retorted she with much + wasted dignity. + </p> + <p> + “She's a swell cook, and a fine housekeeper, and shell keep yuh from + getting lonesome. She's good company, the Countess is.” He grinned when he + said it “I'll have Chip ketch up the creams, and you get ready and go + along with us. It'll give you a chance to size up the kind uh neighbors + yuh got.” + </p> + <p> + There was real pleasure in driving swiftly over the prairie land, through + the sweet, spring sunshine, and Miss Whitmore tingled with enthusiasm till + they drove headlong into a deep coulee which sheltered the Denson family. + </p> + <p> + “This road is positively dangerous!” she exclaimed when they reached a + particularly steep place and Chip threw all his weight upon the brake. + </p> + <p> + “We'll get the Countess in beside yuh, coming back, and then yuh won't + rattle around in the seat so much. She's good and solid—just hang + onto her and you'll be all right,” said J. G. + </p> + <p> + “If I don't like her looks—and I know I won't—I'll get into + the front seat and you can hang onto her yourself, Mr. J. G. Whitmore.” + </p> + <p> + Chip, who had been silent till now, glanced briefly over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “It's a cinch you'll take the front seat,” he remarked, laconically. + </p> + <p> + “J. G., if you hire a woman like that—” + </p> + <p> + “Like what? Doggone it, it takes a woman to jump at conclusions! The + Countess is all right. She talks some—” + </p> + <p> + “I'd tell a man she does!” broke in Chip, tersely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, show me the woman that don't! Don't you be bluffed so easy, Dell. I + never seen the woman yet that Chip had any time for. The Countess is all + right, and she certainly can cook! I admit she talks consider'ble—” + </p> + <p> + Chip laughed grimly, and the Old Man subsided. + </p> + <p> + At the house a small, ginger-whiskered man came down to the gate to greet + them. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how—de-do! I couldn't make out who 't was comin', but Mary, + she up an' rek'nized the horses. Git right out an' come on in! We've had + our dinner, but I guess the wimmin folks can scare ye up a bite uh + suthin'. This yer sister? We heard she was up t' your place. She the one + that set one uh your horse's leg? Bill, he was tellin' about it. I dunno + as wimmin horse doctors is very common, but I dunno why not. I get a horse + with somethin' the matter of his foot, and I dunno what. I'd like t' have + ye take a look at it, fore ye go. 'Course, I expect t' pay ye.” + </p> + <p> + The Old Man winked appreciatively at Chip before he came humanely to the + rescue and explained that his sister was not a horse doctor, and Mr. + Denson, looking very disappointed, reiterated his invitation to enter. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Denson, a large woman who narrowly escaped being ginger-whiskered + like her husband, beamed upon them from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Come right on in! Louise, here's comp'ny! The house is all tore up—we + been tryin' t' clean house a little. Lay off yer things an' I'll git yuh + some dinner right away. I'm awful glad yuh come over—I do hate t' + see folks stand on cer'mony out here where neighbors is so skurce. I guess + yuh think we ain't been very neighborly, but we been tryin' t' clean + house, an' me an' Louise ain't had a minute we could dast call our own, er + we'd a been over t' seen yuh before now. Yuh must git awful lonesome, + comin' right out from the East where neighbors is thick. Do lay off yer + things!” + </p> + <p> + Della looked appealingly at J. G., who again came to the rescue. Somehow + he made himself heard long enough to explain their errand, and to + emphasize the fact that they were in a great hurry, and had eaten dinner + before they started from home. In his sister's opinion he made one + exceedingly rash statement. He said that he wished to hire Mrs. Denson's + sister for the summer. Mrs. Denson immediately sent a shrill call for + Louise. + </p> + <p> + Then appeared the Countess, tall, gaunt and muscular, with sallow skin and + a nervous manner. + </p> + <p> + “The front seat or walk!” declared Miss Whitmore, mentally, after a brief + scrutiny and began storing up a scathing rebuke for J. G. + </p> + <p> + “Louise, this is Miss Whitmore,” began Mrs. Denson, cheerfully, fortified + by a fresh lungful of air. “They're after yuh t' go an' keep house for + 'em, an' I guess yuh better go, seein' we got the house cleaned all but + whitewashin' the cellar an' milk room an' kals'minin' the upstairs, an' + I'll make Bill do that, an' 't won't hurt him a mite. They'll give yuh + twenty-five dollars a month an' keep yuh all summer, an' as much longer as + his sister stays. I guess yuh might as well go, fer they can't git anybody + else that'll keep things up in shape an' be comp'ny fer his sister, an' I + b'lieve in helpin' a neighbor out when yuh can. You go right an' pack up + yer trunk, an' don't worry about me—I'll git along somehow, now the + house-cleanin's most done.” + </p> + <p> + Louise had been talking also, but her sister seemed to have a stronger + pair of lungs, for her voice drowned that of the Countess, who retreated + to “pack up.” + </p> + <p> + The minutes dragged by, to the tune of several chapters of family history + as voluminously interpreted by Mrs. Denson. Miss Whitmore had always + boasted the best-behaved of nerves, but this day she developed a genuine + case of “fidgets.” Once she saw Chip's face turned inquiringly toward the + window, and telegraphed her state of mind—while Mrs. Denson's back + was turned—so eloquently that Chip was swept at once into + sympathetic good-fellowship. He arranged the cushion on the front seat + significantly, and was rewarded by an emphatic, though furtive, nod and + smile. Whereupon he leaned comfortably back, rolled a cigarette and smoked + contentedly, at peace with himself and the world—though he did not + in the least know why. + </p> + <p> + “An' as I told Louise, folks has got t' put up with things an' not be + huntin' trouble with a club all the time, if they expect t' git any + comfort out uh this life. We ain't had the best uh luck, seems t' me, but + we always git along somehow, an' we ain't had no sickness except when—” + </p> + <p> + A confused uproar arose in the room above them, followed, immediately by a + humpety bump and a crash as a small, pink object burst open a door and + rolled precipitately into their midst. It proved to be one of the little + Densons, who kicked feebly with both feet and then lay still. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy upon us! Ellen, who pushed Sary down them stairs? She's kilt!” + </p> + <p> + Della sprang up and lifted the child in her arms, passing her hand quickly + over the head and plump body. + </p> + <p> + “Bring a little cold water, Mrs. Denson. She's only stunned, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it does beat all how handy you go t' work. Anybody c'd see t' you + know your business. I'm awful glad you was here—there, darlin', + don't cry—Ellen, an' Josephine, an' Sybilly, an' Margreet, you come + down here t' me!” + </p> + <p> + The quartet, snuffling and reluctant, was dragged ignominiously to the + middle of the floor and there confessed, 'mid tears and much + recrimination, that they had been peeping down at the “comp'ny” through + various knot-holes in the chamber floor; that, as Sary's knot-hole was + next the wall, her range of vision was restricted to the thin spot upon + the crown of J. G.'s head, and the back of his neck. Sary longed for sight + of the woman horse doctor, and when she essayed to crowd in and usurp + Ellen's point of vantage, there ensued a war of extermination which ended + in the literal downfall of Sary. + </p> + <p> + By the time this checked-apron court of inquiry adjourned, Louise appeared + and said she believed she was ready, and Miss Whitmore escaped from the + house far in advance of the others—and such were Chip's telepathic + powers that he sprang down voluntarily and assisted her to the front seat + without a word being said by either. + </p> + <p> + Followed a week of dullness at the ranch, with the Countess scrubbing and + dusting and cleaning from morning till night. The Little Doctor, as the + bunk house had christened her, was away attending the State Medical + Examination at Helena. + </p> + <p> + “Gee-whiz!” sighed Cal on Sunday afternoon. “It seems mighty queer without + the Little Doctor around here, sassing the Old Man and putting the hull + bunch of us on the fence about once a day. If it wasn't for Len Adams—” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't do you any good to throw a nasty loop at the Little Doctor,” + broke in Weary, “'cause she's spoken for, by all signs and tokens. There's + some fellow back East got a long rope on her.” + </p> + <p> + “You got the papers for that?” jeered Cal. “The Little Doctor don't act + the way I'd want my girl t' act, supposin' I was some thousand or fifteen + hundred miles off her range. She ain't doing no pining, I tell yuh those.” + </p> + <p> + “She's doing a lot of writing, though. I'll bet money, if we called the + roll right here, you'd see there's been a letter a week hittin' the trail + to one Dr. Cecil Granthum, Gilroy, Ohio.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what,” agreed Jack Bates. “I packed one last week, myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I done worse than that,” said Weary, blandly. “I up and fired a shot at + her, after the second one she handed me. I says, as innocent: 'I s'pose, + if I lost this, there'd be a fellow out on the next train with blood in + his eye and a six-gun in both hands, demanding explanations'—and she + flashed them dimples on me and twinkled them big, gray eyes of hers, and + says: 'It's up to you to carry it safe, then,' or words to that effect. I + took notice she didn't deny but what he would.” + </p> + <p> + “Two doctors in one family—gee whiz!” mused Cal. “If I hadn't got + the only girl God ever made right, I'd give one Dr. Cecil Granthum, of + Gilroy, Ohio, a run for his money, I tell yuh those. I'd impress it upon + him that a man's taking long chances when he stands and lets his best girl + stampede out here among us cow-punchers for a change uh grass. That fellow + needs looking after; he ain't finished his education. Jacky, you ain't got + a female girl yanking your heart around, sail in and show us what yuh can + do in that line.” + </p> + <p> + “Nit,” said Jack Bates, briefly. “My heart's doing business at the old + stand and doing it satisfactory and proper. I don't want to set it to + bucking—over a girl that wouldn't have me at any price. Let Slim. + The Little Doctor's half stuck on him, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + While the boys amused themselves in serious debate with Slim, Chip put + away his magazine and went down to visit Silver in the box stall. He was + glad they had not attempted to draw him into the banter—they had + never once thought to do so, probably, though he had been thrown into the + company of the Little Doctor more than any of the others, for several good + reasons. He had broken the creams to harness, and always drove them, for + the Old Man found them more than he cared to tackle. And there was Silver, + with frequent discussions over his progress toward recovery and some + argument over his treatment—for Chip had certain ideas of his own + concerning horses, and was not backward about expressing them upon + occasion. + </p> + <p> + That the Little Doctor should write frequent letters to a man in the East + did not concern him—why should it? Still, a fellow without a home + and without some woman who cares for him, cannot escape having his + loneliness thrust upon him at times. He wondered why he should care. + Surely, ten years of living his life alone ought to kill that latent + homesickness which used to hold him awake at nights. Sometimes even of + late years, when he stood guard over the cattle at night, and got to + thinking—oh, it was hell to be all alone in the world! + </p> + <p> + There were Cal and Weary, they had girls who loved them—and they + were sure welcome to them. And Jack Bates and Happy Jack had sisters and + mothers—and even Slim had an old maid aunt who always knit him a red + and green pair of wristlets for Christmas. Chip, smoothing mechanically + the shimmery, white mane of his pet, thought he might be contented if he + had even an old maid aunt—but he would see that she made his + wristlets of some other color than those bestowed every year upon Slim. + </p> + <p> + As for the Little Doctor, it would be something strange if she had gone + through life without having some fellow in love with her. Probably, if the + truth was known, there had been more than Dr. Cecil Granthum—bah, + what a sickening name! Cecil! It might as well be Adolphus or Regie or—what + does a man want to pack around a name like that for? Probably he was the + kind of man that the name sounded like; a dude with pink cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Chip knew just how he looked. Inspiration suddenly seizing upon him, he + sat down upon the manger, drew his memorandum book out of his inner coat + pocket, carefully sharpened a bit of lead pencil which he found in another + pocket, tore a leaf from the book, and, with Silver looking over his + shoulder, drew a graphic, ideal picture of Dr. Cecil Granthum. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. — In Silver's Stall. + </h2> + <p> + “Oh, are YOU here? It's a wonder you don't have your bed brought down + here, so you can sleep near Silver. How has he been doing since I left?” + </p> + <p> + Chip simply sat still upon the edge of the manger and stared. His gray hat + was pushed far back upon his head and his dark hair waved and curled upon + his forehead, very much as a girl's might have done. He did not know that + he was a very good-looking young man, but perhaps the Little Doctor did. + She smiled and came up and patted Silver, who had forgotten that he ever + had objected to her nearness. He nickered a soft welcome and laid his nose + on her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “You've been drawing a picture. Who's the victim of your satirical pencil + this time?” The Little Doctor, reaching out quickly, calmly appropriated + the sketch before Chip had time to withdraw it, even if he had cared to do + so. He was busy wondering how the Little Doctor came to be there at that + particular time, and had forgotten the picture, which he had not quite + finished labeling. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Cecil—” Miss Whitmore turned red at first, then broke into + laughter. “Oh—h, ha! ha! ha! Silver, you don't know how funny this + master of yours can be! Ha! ha!” She raised her head from Silver's neck, + where it had rested, and wiped her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “How did you know about Cecil?” she demanded of a very discomfited young + man upon the manger. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know—and I didn't WANT to know. I heard the boys talking + and joshing about him, and I just drew—their own conclusions.” Chip + grinned a little and whittled at his pencil, and wondered how much of the + statement was a lie. + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore tamed red again, and ended by laughing even more heartily + than at first. + </p> + <p> + “Their conclusions aren't very complimentary,” she said. “I don't believe + Dr. Cecil would feel flattered at this. Why those bowed legs, may I ask, + and wherefore that long, lean, dyspeptic visage? Dr. Cecil, let me inform + you, has a digestion that quails not at deviled crabs and chafing-dish + horrors at midnight, as I have abundant reason to know. I have seen Dr. + Cecil prepare a welsh rabbit and—eat it, also, with much relish, + apparently. Oh, no, their conclusions weren't quite correct. There are + other details I might mention—that cane, for instance—but let + it pass. I shall keep this, I think, as a companion to 'The old maid's + credential card.'” + </p> + <p> + “Are you in the habit of keeping other folk's property?” inquired Chip, + with some acerbity. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing but personal caricatures—and hearts, perhaps,” returned the + Little Doctor, sweetly. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly think your collection of the last named article is very large,” + retorted Chip. + </p> + <p> + “Still, I added to the collection to-day,” pursued Miss Whitmore, calmly. + “I shared my seat in the train with J. G.'s silent partner (I did not find + him silent, however), Mr. Duncan Whitaker. He hired a team in Dry Lake and + we came out together, and I believe—please don't mention Dr. Cecil + Granthum to him, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Chip wished, quite savagely, that she wouldn't let those dimples dodge + into her cheeks, and the laugh dodge into her eyes, like that. It made a + fellow uncomfortable. He was thoroughly disgusted with her—or he + would be, if she would only stop looking like that. He was in that state + of mind where his only salvation, seemingly, lay in quarreling with some + one immediately. + </p> + <p> + “So old Dunk's come back? If you've got his heart, you must have gone + hunting it with a microscope, for it's a mighty small one—almost as + small as his soul. No one else even knew he had one. You ought to have it + set in a ring, so you won't lose it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't wear phony jewelry, thank you,” said Miss Whitmore, and Chip + thought dimples weren't so bad after all. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor was weaving Silver's mane about her white fingers and + meditating deeply. Chip wondered if she were thinking of Dr. Cecil. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you learn to draw like that?” she asked, suddenly, turning + toward him. “You do much better than I, and I've always been learning from + good teachers. Did you ever try painting?” + </p> + <p> + Chip blushed and looked away from her. This was treading close to his + deep-hidden, inner self. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know where I learned. I never took a lesson in my life, except + from watching people and horses and the country, and remembering the lines + they made, you know. I always made pictures, ever since I can remember—but + I never tried colors very much. I never had a chance, working around + cow-camps and on ranches.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like to have you look over some of my sketches and things—and + I've paints and canvas, if you ever care to try that. Come up to the house + some evening and I'll show you my daubs. They're none of them as good as + 'The Old Maid.'” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd tear that thing up!” said Chip, vehemently. + </p> + <p> + “Why? The likeness is perfect. One would think you were designer for a + fashion paper, the way you got the tucks in my sleeve and the braid on my + collar—and you might have had the kindness to TELL me my hat was on + crooked, I think!” + </p> + <p> + There was a rustle in the loose straw, a distant slam of the stable door, + and Chip sat alone with his horse, whittling abstractedly at his pencil + till his knife blade grated upon the metal which held the eraser. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. — The Hum of Preparation. + </h2> + <p> + Miss Whitmore ran down to the blacksmith shop, waving an official-looking + paper in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I've got it, J. G.!” + </p> + <p> + “Got what—smallpox?” J. G. did not even look up from the iron he was + welding. + </p> + <p> + “No, my license. I'm a really, truly doctor now, and you needn't laugh, + either. You said you'd give a dance if I passed, and I did. Happy Jack + brought it just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Brought the dance?” The Old Man gave the bellows a pull which sent a + shower of sparks toward the really, truly doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Brought the license,” she explained, patiently. “You can see for + yourself. They were awfully nice to me—they seemed to think a girl + doctor is some kind of joke out here. They didn't make it any easier, + though; they acted as if they didn't expect me to pass—but I did!” + </p> + <p> + The Old Man rubbed one smutty hand down his trousers leg and extended it + for the precious document. “Let me have a look at it,” he said, trying to + hide his pride in her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, but I'll hold it. Your hands are dirty.” Dr. Whitmore eyed the + hands disapprovingly. + </p> + <p> + The Old Man read it slowly through, growing prouder every line. + </p> + <p> + “You're all right, Dell—I'll be doggoned if you ain't. Don't you + worry about the dance—I'll see't yuh get it. You go tell the + Countess to bake up a lot of cake and truck, and I'll send some uh the + boys around t' tell the neighbors. Better have it Friday night, I guess—I'm + goin t' start the round-up out early next week. Doggone it! I've gone and + burned that weldin'. Go on and stop your botherin' me!” + </p> + <p> + In two minutes the Little Doctor was back, breathless. + </p> + <p> + “What about the music, J. G.? We want GOOD music.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll tend t' that part. Say! You can rig up that room off the + dining room for your office—I s'pose you'll have to have one. You + make out a list of what dope you want—and be sure yuh get a-plenty. + I look for an unhealthy summer among the cow-punchers. If I ain't mistook + in the symptoms, Dunk's got palpitation uh the heart right now—an' + got it serious.” + </p> + <p> + The Old Man chuckled to himself and went back to his welding. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Louise!” The Little Doctor hurried to where the Countess was + scrubbing the kitchen steps with soft soap and sand and considerable + energy. “J. G. says I may have a dance next Friday night, so we must hurry + and fix the house—only I don't see much fixing to be done; + everything is SO clean.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there ain't a room in the house fit fer comp'ny t' walk into,” + expostulated the Countess while she scrubbed. “I do like t' see a house + clean when folks is expected that only come t' be critical an' make + remarks behind yer back the minit they git away. If folks got anything t' + say I'd a good deal ruther they said it t' my face an' be done with it. + 'Yuh can know a man's face but yuh can't know his heart,' as the sayin' + is, an' it's the same way with women—anyway, it's the same way with + Mis' Beckman. You can know her face a mile off, but yuh never know who + she's goin' t' rake over the coals next. As the sayin' is: 'The tongue of + a woman, at last it biteth like a serpent an' it stingeth like an addle,' + an' I guess it's so. Anyway, Mis' Beckman's does. I do b'lieve on my soul—what's + the matter, Dell? What yuh laughin' at?” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor was past speech for the moment, and the Countess stood + up and looked curiously around her. It never occurred to her that she + might be the cause of that convulsive outburst. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—he—never mind—he's gone, now.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's gone?” persisted the Countess. + </p> + <p> + “What kinds of cake do you think we ought to have?” asked the Little + Doctor, diplomatically. + </p> + <p> + The Countess sank to her knees and dipped a handful of amber, jelly-like + soap from a tin butter can. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know. I s'pose folks will look for something fancy, seein' + you're givin' the dance. Mis' Beckman sets herself up as a shinin' example + on cake, and she'll come just t' be critical an' find fault, if she can. + If I can't bake all around her the best day she ever seen, I'll give up + cookin' anything but spuds. She had the soggiest kind uh jelly roll t' the + su'prise on Mary last winter. I know it was hern, fer I seen her bring it + in, an' I went straight an' ondone it. I guess it was kinda mean uh me, + but I don't care—as the sayin' is: 'What's sass fer the goose is + good enough sass fer anybody'—an' she done the same trick by me, at + the su'prise at Adamses last fall. But she couldn't find no kick about MY + cake, an' hers—yuh c'd of knocked a cow down with it left-handed! If + that's the best she c'n do on cake I'd advise 'er to keep the next batch + t' home where they're used to it. They say't 'What's one man's meat 's + pizen t' the other feller,' and I guess it's so enough. Maybe Mame an' the + rest uh them Beckman kids can eat sech truck without comin' down in a + bunch with gastakutus, but I'd hate t' tackle it myself.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor gurgled. This was a malady which had not been mentioned + at the medical college. + </p> + <p> + “Where shall we set the tables, if we dance in the dining room?” she + asked, having heard enough of the Beckmans for the present. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we won't set any tables. Folks always have a lap supper at ranch + dances. At the su'prise on Mary—” + </p> + <p> + “What is a lap supper?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my stars alive! Where under the shinin' sun was you brought up if + yuh never heard of a lap supper? A lap supper is where folks set around + the walls—or any place they can find—and take the plates on + their laps and yuh pass 'em stuff. The san'wiches—” + </p> + <p> + “You do make such beautiful bread!” interrupted the Little Doctor, very + sincerely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ain't had the best uh luck, lately, but I guess it does taste + good after that bread yuh had when I come. Soggy was no name for—” + </p> + <p> + “Patsy made that bread,” interposed Miss Whitmore, hastily. “He had bad + luck, and—” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he did!” sniffed the Countess, contemptuously. “As I told Mary + when I come—” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder how many cakes we'll need?” Miss Whitmore, you will observe, had + learned to interrupt when she had anything to say. It was the only course + to pursue with anyone from Denson coulee. + </p> + <p> + The Countess, having finished her scrubbing, rose jerkily and upset the + soap can, which rolled over and over down the steps, leaving a yellow + trail as it went. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there, if that wasn't a bright trick uh mine? They say the more yuh + hurry the less yuh'll git along, an' that's a sample. We'd ought t' have + five kinds, an' about four uh each kind. It wouldn't do t' run out, er + Mis' Beckman never would let anybody hear the last of it. Down t' Mary's—” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty cakes! Good gracious! I'll have to order my stock of medicine, for + I'll surely have a houseful of patients if the guests eat twenty cakes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as the sayin' is: 'Patience an' perseverance can git away with most + anything,'” observed the Countess, naively. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor retired behind her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “My stars alive, I do b'lieve my bread's beginnin' t' scorch!” cried the + Countess, and ran to see. The Little Doctor followed her inside and sat + down. + </p> + <p> + “We must make a list of the things we'll need, Louise. You—” + </p> + <p> + “Dell! Oh-h. Dell!” The voice of the Old Man resounded from the parlor. + </p> + <p> + “I'm in the kitchen!” called she, remaining where she was. He tramped + heavily through the house to her. + </p> + <p> + “I'll send the rig in, t'morrow, if there's anything yuh want,” he + remarked. “And if you'll make out a list uh dope, I'll send the order in + t' the Falls. We've got plenty uh saws an' cold chisels down in the + blacksmith shop—you can pick out what yuh want.” He dodged and + grinned. “Got any cake, Countess?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there ain't a thing cooked, hardly. I'm going t' bake up something + right after dinner. Here's some sponge cake—but it ain't fit t' eat, + hardly. I let Dell look in the oven, 'cause my han's was all over flour, + an' she slammed the door an' it fell. But yuh can't expect one person t' + know everything—an' too many han's can't make decent soup, as the + sayin' is, an' it's the same way with cake.” + </p> + <p> + The Old Man winked at the Little Doctor over a great wedge of feathery + delight. “I don't see nothing the matter with this—only it goes down + too easy,” he assured the Countess between mouthfuls. “Fix up your list, + Dell, and don't be afraid t' order everything yuh need. I'll foot the—” + </p> + <p> + The Old Man, thinking to go back to his work, stepped into the puddle of + soft soap and sat emphatically down upon the top step, coasting rapidly to + the bottom. A carpet slipper shot through the open door and landed in the + dishpan; the other slipper disappeared mysteriously. The wedge of cake was + immediately pounced upon by an investigative hen and carried in triumph to + her brood. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” J. G. struggled painfully to his feet. “Dell, who in thunder + put that stuff there? You're a little too doggoned anxious for somebody t' + practice on, seems t' me.” A tiny trickle of blood showed in the thin spot + on his head. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hurt, J. G.? We—I spilled the soap.” The Little Doctor + gazed solicitous, from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! I see yuh spilled the soap, all right enough. I'm willin' to believe + yuh did without no affidavit. Doggone it, a bachelor never has any such a + man-trap around in a fellow's road. I've lived in Montana fourteen years, + an' I never slipped up on my own doorstep till you got here. It takes a + woman t' leave things around—where's my cake?” + </p> + <p> + “Old Specie took it down by the bunk house. Shall I go after it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you needn't. Doggone it, this wading through ponds uh soft soap has + got t' stop right here. I never had t' do it when I was baching, I + notice.” He essayed, with the aid of a large splinter, to scrape the + offending soap from his trousers. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, you didn't. Bachelors never use soap,” retorted Della. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they don't, hey? That's all you know about it. They don't use this + doggoned, slimy truck, let me tell yuh. What d'yuh want, Chip? Oh, you've + got t' grin, too! Dell, why don't yuh do something fer my head? What's + your license good f er, I'd like t' know? You didn't see Dell's license, + did yuh, Chip? Go and get it an' show it to him, Dell. It's good fer + everything but gitting married—there ain't any cure for that + complaint.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. — Love and a Stomach Pump. + </h2> + <p> + An electrical undercurrent of expectation pervaded the very atmosphere of + Flying U ranch. The musicians, two supercilious but undeniably efficient + young men from Great Falls, had arrived two hours before and were being + graciously entertained by the Little Doctor up at the house. The + sandwiches stood waiting, the coffee was ready for the boiling water, and + the dining-room floor was smooth as wax could make it. + </p> + <p> + For some reason unknown to himself, Chip was “in the deeps.” He even + threatened to stop in the bunk house and said he didn't feel like dancing, + but was brought into line by weight of numbers. He hated Dick Brown, + anyway, for his cute, little yellow mustache that curled up at the ends + like the tail of a drake. He had snubbed him all the way out from town and + handled Dick's guitar with a recklessness that invited disaster. And the + way Dick smirked when the Old Man introduced him to the Little Doctor—a + girl with a fellow in the East oughtn't to let her eyes smile that way at + a pin-headed little dude like Dick Brown, anyway. And he—Chip—had + given, her a letter postmarked blatantly: “Gilroy, Ohio, 10:30 P. M.”—and + she had been so taken up with those cussed musicians that she couldn't + even thank him, and only just glanced at the letter before she stuck it + inside her belt. Probably she wouldn't even read it till after the dance. + He wondered if Dr. Cecil Granthum cared—oh, hell! Of COURSE he cared—that + is, if he had any sense at all. But the Little Doctor—she wasn't + above flirting, he noticed. If HE ever fell in love with a girl—which + the Lord forbid—he'd take mighty good care she didn't get time to + make dimples and smiles for some other fellow to go to heaven looking at. + </p> + <p> + There, that was her, laughing like she always laughed—it reminded + him of pines nodding in a canyon and looking wise and whispering things + they'd seen and heard before you were born, and of water falling over + rocks, somehow. Queer, maybe—but it did. He wondered if Dick Brown + had been trying to say something funny. He didn't see, for the life of + him, how the Little Doctor could laugh at that little imitation man. Girls + are—well, they're easy pleased, most of them. + </p> + <p> + Down in the bunk house the boys were hurrying into their “war togs”—which + is, being interpreted, their best clothes. There was a nervous scramble + over the cracked piece of a bar mirror—which had a history—and + cries of “Get out!” “Let me there a minute, can't yuh?” and “Get up off my + coat!” were painfully frequent. + </p> + <p> + Happy Jack struggled blindly with a refractory red tie, which his face + rivaled in hue and sheen—for he had been generous of soap. + </p> + <p> + Weary had possessed himself of the glass and was shaving as leisurely as + though four restive cow-punchers were not waiting anxiously their turn. + </p> + <p> + “For the Lord's sake, Weary!” spluttered Jack Bates. “Your whiskers grow + faster'n you can shave 'em off, at that gait. Get a move on, can't yuh?” + </p> + <p> + Weary turned his belathered face sweetly upon Jack. “Getting in a hurry, + Jacky? YOUR girl won't be there, and nobody else's girl is going to have + time to see whether you shaved to-day or last Christmas. You don't want to + worry so much about your looks, none of you. I hate to say it, but you act + vain, all of you kids. Honest, I'm ashamed. Look at that gaudy countenance + Happy's got on—and his necktie's most as bad.” He stropped his razor + with exasperating nicety, stopping now and then to test its edge upon a + hair from his own brown head. + </p> + <p> + Happy Jack, grown desperate over his tie and purple over Weary's remarks, + craned his neck over the shoulder of that gentleman and leered into the + mirror. When Happy liked, he could contort his naturally plain features + into a diabolical grin which sent prickly waves creeping along the spine + of the beholder. + </p> + <p> + Weary looked, stared, half rose from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Holy smithereens! Quit it, Happy! You look like the devil by lightning.” + </p> + <p> + Happy, watching, seized the hand that held the razor; Cal, like a cat, + pounced upon the mirror, and Jack Bates deftly wrenched the razor from + Weary's fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Whoopee, boys! Some of you tie Weary down and set on him while I shave,” + cried Cal, jubilant over the mutiny. “We'll make short work of this toilet + business.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Weary was borne to the floor, bound hand and foot with silk + handkerchiefs, carried bodily and laid upon his bed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the things I won't do to you for this!” he asserted, darkly. “There + won't nary a son-of-a-gun uh yuh get a dance from my little schoolma'am—you'll + see!” He grinned prophetically, closed his eyes and murmured: “Call me + early, mother dear,” and straightway fell away into slumber and peaceful + snoring, while the lather dried upon his face. + </p> + <p> + “Better turn Weary loose and wake him up, Chip,” suggested Jack Bates, + half an hour later, shoving the stopper into his cologne bottle and making + for the door. “At the rate the rigs are rolling in, it'll take us all to + put up the teams.” The door slammed behind him as it had done behind the + others as they hurried away. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” Chip untied Weary's hands and feet and took him by the shoulder. + “Wake up, Willie, if you want to be Queen o' the May.” + </p> + <p> + Weary sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Confound them two Jacks! What time is + it?” + </p> + <p> + “A little after eight. YOUR crowd hasn't, come yet, so you needn't worry. + I'm not going up yet for a while, myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You're off your feed. Brace up and take all there is going, my son.” + Weary prepared to finish his interrupted beautification. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to—all the bottles, that is. If that Dry Lake gang comes + loaded down with whisky, like they generally do, we ought to get hold of + it and cache every drop, Weary.” + </p> + <p> + Weary turned clear around to stare his astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “When did the W. C. T. U. get you by the collar?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, don't be a fool, Weary,” retorted Chip. “You can see it wouldn't look + right for us to let any of the boys get full, or even half shot, seeing + this is the Little Doctor's dance.” + </p> + <p> + Weary meditatively scraped his left jaw and wiped the lather from the + razor upon a fragment of newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “Splinter, we've throwed in together ever since we drifted onto the same + range, and I'm with you, uh course. But—don't overlook Dr. Cecil + Granthum. I'd hate like the devil to see you git throwed down, because + it'd hurt you worse than anybody I know.” + </p> + <p> + Chip calmly sifted some tobacco into a cigarette paper. His mouth was very + straight and his brows very close together. + </p> + <p> + “It's a devilish good thing it was YOU said that, Weary. If it had been + anyone else I'd punch his face for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes—an' I'd help you, too.” Weary, his mouth very much on one + side of his face that he might the easier shave the other, spoke in + fragments. “You don't take it amiss from—me, though. I can see—” + </p> + <p> + The door slammed with extreme violence, and Weary slashed his chin + unbecomingly in consequence, but he felt no resentment toward Chip. He + calmly stuck a bit of paper on the cut to stop the bleeding and continued + to shave. + </p> + <p> + A short time after, the Little Doctor came across Chip glaring at Dick + Brown, who was strumming his guitar with ostentatious ease upon an + inverted dry-goods box at one end of the long dining room. + </p> + <p> + “I came to ask a favor of you,” she said, “but my courage oozed at the + first glance.” + </p> + <p> + “It's hard to believe your courage would ooze at anything. What's the + favor?” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor bent her head and lowered her voice to a confidential + undertone which caught at Chip's blood and set it leaping. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to come and help me turn my drug store around with its face to + the wall. All the later editions of Denson, Pilgreen and Beckman have + taken possession of my office—and as the Countess says: 'Them + Beckman kids is holy terrors—an' it's savin' the rod an' spoilin' + the kid that makes 'em so!'” + </p> + <p> + Chip laughed outright. “The Denson kids are a heap worse, if she only knew + it,” he said, and followed her willingly. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor's “office” was a homey little room, with a couch, a + well-worn Morris rocker, two willow chairs and a small table for the not + imposing furnishing, dignified by a formidable stack of medical books in + one corner, and the “drug store,” which was simply a roomy bookcase filled + with jars, bottles, boxes and packages, all labeled in a neat vertical + hand. + </p> + <p> + The room fairly swarmed with children, who seemed, for the most part, to + be enjoying themselves very much. Charlotte May Pilgreen and Sary Denson + were hunched amicably over one of the books, shuddering beatifically over + a pictured skeleton. A swarm surrounded the drug store, the glass door of + which stood open. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor flew across to the group, horror white. + </p> + <p> + “Sybilly got the key an' unlocked it, an' she give us this candy, too!” + tattled a Pilgreen with very red hair and a very snub nose. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't, either! It was Jos'phine!” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, you big story-teller! I never tetched it!” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor clutched the nearest arm till the owner of it squealed. + </p> + <p> + “How many of you have eaten some of these? Tell the truth, now.” They + quailed before her sternness—quailed and confessed. All told, seven + had swallowed the sweet pellets, in numbers ranging from two to a dozen + more. + </p> + <p> + “Is it poison?” Chip whispered the question in the ear of the perturbed + Little Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “No—but it will make them exceedingly uncomfortable for a time—I'm + going to pump them out.” + </p> + <p> + “Good shot! Serves 'em right, the little—” + </p> + <p> + “All of you who have eaten this—er—candy, must come with me. + The rest of you may stay here and play, but you must NOT touch this case.” + </p> + <p> + “Yuh going t' give 'em a lickin'?” Sary Denson wetted a finger copiously + before turning a leaf upon the beautiful skeleton. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what I'm going to do to them—you had better keep out of + mischief yourself, however. Mr. Bennett, I wish you would get some fellow + you can trust—some one who won't talk about this afterward—turn + this case around so that it will be safe, and then come to the back + bedroom—the one off the kitchen. And tell Louise I want her, will + you, please?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll get old Weary. Yes, I'll send the Countess—but don't you think + she's a mighty poor hand to keep a secret?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it—I need her. Hurry, please.” + </p> + <p> + Awed by the look in her big, gray eyes and the mysterious summoning of + help, the luckless seven were marched silently through the outer door, + around the house, through the coal shed and so into the back bedroom, + without being observed by the merrymakers, who shook the house to its + foundation to the cheerful command: “Gran' right 'n' left with a double + ELBOW-W!” “Chasse by yer pardner—balance—SWING!” + </p> + <p> + “What under the shinin' sun's the matter, Dell?” The Countess, breathless + from dancing, burst in upon the little group. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing very serious, Louise, though it's rather uncomfortable to be + called from dancing to administer heroic remedies by wholesale. Can you + hold Josephine—whichever one that is? She ate the most, as nearly as + I can find out.” + </p> + <p> + “She ain't gone an' took pizen, has she? What was it—strychnine? + I'll bet them Beckman kids put 'er up to it. Yuh goin' t' give 'er an + anticdote?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to use this.” The Little Doctor held up a fearsome thing to + view. “Open your mouth, Josephine.” + </p> + <p> + Josephine refused; her refusal was emphatic and unequivocal, punctuated by + sundry kicks directed at whoever came within range of her stout little + shoes. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't no use t' call Mary in—Mary can't handle her no better'n I + can—an' not so good. Jos'phine, yuh got—” + </p> + <p> + “Here's where we shine,” broke in a cheery voice which was sweet to the + ears, just then. “Chip and I ain't wrassled with bronks all our lives for + nothing. This is dead easy—all same branding calves. Ketch hold of + her heels, Splinter—that's the talk. Countess, you better set your + back against that door—some of these dogies is thinking of taking a + sneak on us—and we'd have t' go some, to cut 'em out uh that bunch + out there and corral 'em again. There yuh are, Doctor—sail in.” + </p> + <p> + Upheld mentally by the unfailing sunniness of Weary and the calm + determination of Chip, to whom flying heels and squirming bodies were as + nothing, or at most a mere trifle, the Little Doctor set to work with a + thoroughness and dispatch which struck terror to the hearts of the guilty + seven. + </p> + <p> + It did not take long—as Weary had said, it was very much like + branding calves. No sooner was one child made to disgorge and laid, limp + and subdued, upon the bed, than Chip and Weary seized another dexterously + by heels and head. The Countess did nothing beyond guarding the door and + acting as chaperon to the undaunted Little Doctor; but she did her duty + and held her tongue afterward—which was a great deal for her to do. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor sat down in a chair, when it was all over, looking + rather white. Chip moved nearer, though there was really nothing that he + could do beyond handing her a glass of water, which she accepted + gratefully. + </p> + <p> + Weary held a little paper trough of tobacco in his fingers and drew the + tobacco sack shut with his teeth. His eyes were fixed reflectively upon + the bed. He placed the sack absently in his pocket, still meditating other + things. + </p> + <p> + “She answered: 'We are seven,'” he quoted softly and solemnly, and the + Little Doctor forgot her faintness in a hearty laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You two go back to your dancing now,” she commanded, letting the dimples + stand in her cheeks in a way that Chip dreamed about afterward. “I don't + know what I should have done without you—a cow-puncher seems born to + meet emergencies in just the right way. PLEASE don't tell anyone, will + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. Don't you worry about us, Doctor. Chip and I don't set up nights + emptying our brains out our mouths. We don't tell our secrets to nobody + but our horses—and they're dead safe.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't think I'll tell, either,” said the Countess, earnestly. “I + ain't forgot how you took the blame uh that sof' soap, Dell. As the sayin' + is—” + </p> + <p> + Weary closed the door then, so they did not hear the saying which seemed + to apply to this particular case. His arm hooked into Chip's, he led the + way through the kitchen and down the hill to the hay corral. Once safe + from observation, he threw himself into the sweetly pungent “blue-joint” + and laughed and laughed. + </p> + <p> + Chip's nervous system did not demand the relief of cachinnation. He went + away to Silver's stall and groped blindly to the place where two luminous, + green moons shone upon him in the darkness. He rubbed the delicate nose + gently and tangled his fingers in the dimly gleaming mane, as he had seen + HER do. Such pink little fingers they were! He laid his brown cheek + against the place where he remembered them to have rested. + </p> + <p> + “Silver horse,” he whispered, “if I ever fall in love with a girl—which + isn't likely!—I'll want her to have dimples and big, gray eyes and a + laugh like—” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. — Prescriptions. + </h2> + <p> + It was Sunday, the second day after the dance. The boys were scattered, + for the day was delicious—one of those sweet, soft days which come + to us early in May. Down in the blacksmith shop Chip was putting new + rowels into his spurs and whistling softly to himself while he worked. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor had gone with him to visit Silver that morning, and had + not hurried away, but had leaned against the manger and listened while he + told her of the time Silver, swimming the river when it was “up,” had + followed him to the Shonkin camp when Chip had thought to leave him at + home. And they had laughed together over the juvenile seven and the + subsequent indignation of the mothers who, with the exception of “Mary,” + had bundled up their offspring and gone home mad. True, they had none of + them thoroughly understood the situation, having only the version of the + children, who accused the Little Doctor of trying to make them eat rubber—“just + cause she was mad about some little old candy.” The mystification of the + others among the Happy Family, who scented a secret with a joke to it but + despaired of wringing the truth from either Weary or Chip, was dwelt upon + with much enjoyment by the Little Doctor. + </p> + <p> + It was a good old world and a pleasant, and Chip had no present quarrel + with fate—or with anybody else. That was why he whistled. + </p> + <p> + Then voices reached him through the open door, and a laugh—HER + laugh. Chip smiled sympathetically, though he had not the faintest notion + of the cause of her mirth. As the voices drew nearer, the soft, smooth, + hated tones of Dunk Whitaker untangled from the Little Doctor's laugh, and + Chip stopped whistling. Dunk was making a good, long stay of it this time; + usually he came one day and went the next, and no one grieved at his + departure. + </p> + <p> + “You find them an entirely new species, of course. How do you get on with + them?” said Dunk. + </p> + <p> + And the Little Doctor answered him frankly and distinctly: “Oh, very well, + considering all things. They furnish me with some amusement, and I give + them something quite new to talk about, so we are quits. They are a + good-hearted lot, you know—but SO ignorant! I don't suppose—” + </p> + <p> + The words trailed into an indistinct murmur, punctuated by Dunk's jarring + cackle. + </p> + <p> + Chip did not resume his whistling, though he might have done so if he had + heard a little more, or a little less. As a matter of fact, it was the + Densons, and the Pilgreens, and the Beckmans that were under discussion, + and not the Flying U cowboys, as Chip believed. He no longer smiled + sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “We furnish her with some amusement, do we? That's good! We're a + good-hearted lot, but SO ignorant! The devil we are!” He struck the rivet + such a blow that he snapped one shank of his spur short off. This meant + ten or twelve dollars for a new pair—though the cost of it troubled + him little, just then. It was something tangible upon which to pour + profanity, however, and the atmosphere grew sulphurous in the vicinity of + the blacksmith shop and remained so for several minutes, after which a + tall, irate cow-puncher with his hat pulled low over angry eyes left the + shop and strode up the path to the deserted bunk house. + </p> + <p> + He did not emerge till the Old Man called to him to ride down to Benson's + after one of the Flying U horses which had broken out of the pasture. + </p> + <p> + Della was looking from the window when Chip rode up the hill upon the + “coulee trail,” which passed close by the house. She was tired of the + platitudes of Dunk, who, trying to be both original and polished, fell far + short of being either and only succeeded in being extremely tiresome. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Chip going, J. G.?” she demanded, in a proprietary tone. + </p> + <p> + “Down t' Benson's after a horse.” J. G. spoke lazily, without taking his + pipe from his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wish I could go—I wonder if he'd care.” The Little Doctor + spoke impulsively as was her habit. + </p> + <p> + “'Course he wouldn't. Hey, Chip! Hold on a minute!” The Old Man stood + waving his pipe in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + Chip jerked his horse to a stand-still and half turned in the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Dell wants t' go along. Will yuh saddle up Concho for 'er? There's no + hurry, anyhow, you've got plenty uh time. Dell's afraid one uh the kids + might fall downstairs ag'in, and she'd miss the case.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not, either,” said the Little Doctor, coming to stand by her brother; + “it's too nice a day to stay inside, and my muscles ache for a gallop over + the hills.” + </p> + <p> + Chip did not look up at her; he did not dare. He felt that, if he met her + eyes—with the laugh in them—he should do one of two + undesirable things: he should either smile back at her, weakly overlooking + the hypocrisy of her friendliness, or sneer in answer to her smile, which + would be very rude and ungentlemanly. + </p> + <p> + “If you had mentioned wanting a ride I should have been glad to accompany + you,” remarked Dunk, reproachfully, when Chip had ridden, somewhat + sullenly, back to the stable. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think of it before—thank you,” said the Little Doctor, + lightly, and hurried away to put on her blue riding habit with its cunning + little jockey cap which she found the only headgear that would stay upon + her head in the teeth of Montana wind, and which made her look-well, + kissable. She was standing on the porch drawing on her gauntlets when Chip + returned, leading Concho by the bridle. + </p> + <p> + “Let me help you,” begged Dunk, at her elbow, hoping till the last that + she would invite him to go with them. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor, not averse to hiding the bitter of her medicine under a + coating of sugar, smiled sweetly upon him, to the delectation of Dunk and + the added bitterness of Chip, who was rapidly nearing that state of mind + which is locally described as being “strictly on the fight.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect she thinks I'll amuse her some more!” he thought, savagely, as + they galloped away through the quivering sunlight. + </p> + <p> + For the first two miles the road was level, and Chip set the pace—which + was, as he intended it should be, too swift for much speech. After that + the trail climbed abruptly out of Flying U coulee, and the horses were + compelled to walk. Then it was that Chip's native chivalry and + self-mastery were put to test. + </p> + <p> + He was hungry for a solitary ride such as had, before now, drawn much of + the lonely ache out of his heart and keyed him up to the life which he + must live and which chafed his spirit more than even he realized. Instead + of such slender comfort, he was forced to ride beside the girl who had + hurt him—so close that his knee sometimes brushed her horse—and + to listen to her friendly chatter and make answer, at times, with at least + some show of civility. + </p> + <p> + She was talking reminiscently of the dance. + </p> + <p> + “J. G. showed splendid judgment in his choice of musicians, didn't he?” + </p> + <p> + Chip looked straight ahead. This was touching a sore place in his memory. + A vision of Dick Brown's vapid smile and curled up mustache rose before + him. + </p> + <p> + “I'd tell a man,” he said, with faint irony. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor gave him a quick, surprised look and went on. + </p> + <p> + “I liked their playing so much. Mr. Brown was especially good upon the + guitar.” + </p> + <p> + “Y—e-s?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course. You know yourself, he plays beautifully.” + </p> + <p> + “Cow-punchers aren't expected to know all these things.” Chip hated + himself for replying so, but the temptation mastered him. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't they? I can't see why not.” + </p> + <p> + Chip closed his lips tightly to keep in something impolite. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor, puzzled as well as piqued, went straight to the point. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you like Mr. Brown's playing?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I say I didn't like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you—not exactly, but you implied that you did not.” + </p> + <p> + “Y—e-s?” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor gave the reins an impatient twitch. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes—YES!” + </p> + <p> + No answer from Chip. He could think of nothing to say that was not more or + less profane. + </p> + <p> + “I think he's a very nice, amiable young man”—strong emphasis upon + the second adjective. “I like amiable young men.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + “He's going to come down here hunting next fall. J. G. invited him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? What does he expect to find?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, whatever there is to hunt. Chickens and—er—deer—” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + By this they reached the level and the horses broke, of their own accord, + into a gallop which somewhat relieved the strain upon the mental + atmosphere. At the next hill the Little Doctor looked her companion over + critically. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bennett, you look positively bilious. Shall I prescribe for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't see how that would add to your amusement.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not trying to add to my amusement.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + “If I were, there's no material at hand. Bad-tempered young men are never + amusing, to me. I like—” + </p> + <p> + “Amiable young men. Such as Dick Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you need a change of air, Mr. Bennett.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? I've felt, lately, that Eastern airs don't agree with my + constitution.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Whitmore grew red as to cheeks and bright as to eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I think a few small doses of Eastern manners would improve you very + much,” she said, pointedly. + </p> + <p> + “Y—e-s? They'd have to be small, because the supply is very + limited.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor grew white around the mouth. She held Concho's rein so + tight he almost stopped. + </p> + <p> + “If you didn't want me to come, why in the world didn't you have the + courage to say so at the start? I must say I don't admire people whose + tempers—and manners—are so unstable. I'm sorry I forced my + presence upon you, and I promise you it won't occur again.” She hesitated, + and then fired a parting shot which certainly was spiteful in the extreme. + “There's one good thing about it,” she smiled, tartly, “I shall have + something interesting to write to Dr. Cecil.” + </p> + <p> + With that she turned astonished Concho short around in the trail—and + as Chip gave Blazes a vicious jab with his spurs at the same instant, the + distance between them widened rapidly. + </p> + <p> + As Chip raced away over the prairie, he discovered a new and puzzling kink + in his temper. He had been angry with the Little Doctor for coming, but it + was nothing to the rage he felt when she turned back! He did not own to + himself that he wanted her beside him to taunt and to hurt with his + rudeness, but it was a fact, for all that. And it was a very surly young + man who rode into the Denson corral and threw a loop over the head of the + runaway. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. — Before the Round-up. + </h2> + <p> + “The Little Doctor wants us all to come up t' the White House this evening + and have some music,” announced Cal, bursting into the bunk house where + the boys were sorting and packing their belongings ready to start with the + round-up wagon in the morning. + </p> + <p> + Jack Bates hurriedly stuffed a miscellaneous collection of socks and + handkerchiefs into his war bag and made for the wash basin. + </p> + <p> + “I'll just call her bluff,” he said, determinedly. + </p> + <p> + “It ain't any bluff; she wants us t' come, er you bet she wouldn't say so. + I've learned that much about her. Say, you'd a died to seen old Dunk look + down his nose! I'll bet money she done it just t' rasp his feelin's—and + she sure succeeded. I'd go anyway, now, just t' watch him squirm.” + </p> + <p> + “I notice it grinds him consider'ble to see the Little Doctor treat us + fellows like white folks. He's workin' for a stand-in there himself. I bet + he gets throwed down good and hard,” commented Weary, cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “It's a cinch he don't know about that pill-thrower back in Ohio,” added + Cal. “Any of you fellows going to take her bid? I'll go alone, in a + minute.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you'll go alone,” asserted Jack Bates, grabbing his hat. + </p> + <p> + Slim made a few hasty passes at his hair and said he was ready. Shorty, + who had just come in from riding, unbuckled his spurs and kicked them + under his bed. + </p> + <p> + “It'll be many a day b'fore we listen t' the Little Doctor's mandolin + ag'in,” croaked Happy Jack. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, shut up!” admonished Cal. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Chip,” sang out Weary. “You can spoil good paper when you can't + do anything else. Come and size up the look on Dunk's face when we take + possession of all the best chairs and get t' pouring our incense and + admiration on the Little Doctor.” + </p> + <p> + Chip took the cigarette from his lips and emptied his lungs of smoke. “You + fellows go on. I'm not going.” He bent again to his eternal drawing. + </p> + <p> + “The dickens you ain't!” Weary was too astounded to say more. + </p> + <p> + Chip said nothing. His gray hat-brim shielded his face from view, save for + the thin, curved lips and firm chin. Weary studied chin and lips + curiously, and whatever he read there, he refrained from further argument. + He knew Chip so much better than did anyone else. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, what's the matter with yuh, Splinter! Come on; don't be a chump,” + cried Cal, from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you'll let a fellow do as he likes about it, won't you?” queried + Chip, without looking up. He was very busy, just then, shading the + shoulders of a high-pitching horse so that one might see the tense + muscles. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter? You and the Little Doctor have a falling out?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very bad,” Chip's tone was open to several interpretations. Cal + interpreted it as a denial. + </p> + <p> + “Sick?” He asked next. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” said Chip, shortly and falsely. + </p> + <p> + “We'll call the doctor in, then,” volunteered Jack Bates. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you will. When I'm sick enough for that I'll let you know. + I'm going to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, come on and let him alone. Chip's able t' take care of himself, I + guess,” said Weary, mercifully, holding open the door. + </p> + <p> + They trooped out, and the last heard of them was Cal, remarking: + </p> + <p> + “Gee whiz! I'd have t' be ready t' croak before I'd miss this chance uh + dealing old Dunk misery.” + </p> + <p> + Chip sat where they had left him, staring unseeingly down at the + uncompleted sketch. His cigarette went out, but he did not roll a fresh + one and held the half-burned stub abstractedly between his lips, set in + bitter lines. + </p> + <p> + Why should he care what a slip of a girl thought of him? He didn't care; + he only—that thought he did not follow to the end, but started + immediately on a new one. He supposed he was ignorant, according to + Eastern standards. Lined up alongside Dr. Cecil Granthum—damn him!—he + would cut a sorry figure, no doubt. He had never seen the outside of a + college, let alone imbibing learning within one. He had learned some of + the wisdom which nature teaches those who can read her language, and he + had read much, lying on his stomach under a summer sky, while the cattle + grazed all around him and his horse cropped the sweet grasses within reach + of his hand. He could repeat whole pages of Shakespeare, and of Scott, and + Bobbie Burns—he'd like to try Dr. Cecil on some of them and see who + came out ahead. Still, he was ignorant—and none realized it more + keenly and bitterly than did Chip. + </p> + <p> + He rested his chin in his hand and brooded over his comfortless past and + cheerless future. He could just remember his mother—and he preferred + not to remember his father, who was less kind to him than were strangers. + That was his past. And the future—always to be a cow-puncher? There + was his knack for drawing; if he could study and practice, perhaps even + the Little Doctor would not dare call him ignorant then. Not that he cared + for what she might say or might not say, but a fellow can't help hating to + be reminded of something that he knows better than anyone else—and + that is not pleasant, however you may try to cover up the unsightliness of + it. + </p> + <p> + If Dr. Cecil Granthum—damn him!—had been kicked into the world + and made to fight fate with tender, childish little fists but lately + outgrown their baby dimples, as had been HIS lot, would he have amounted + to anything, either? Maybe Dr. Cecil would have grown up just common and + ignorant and fit for nothing better than to furnish amusement to girl + doctors with dimples and big, gray eyes and a way of laughing. He'd like + to show that little woman that she didn't know all about him yet. It + wasn't too late—he was only twenty-four—he would study, and + work, and climb to where she must look up, not down, to him—if she + cared enough to look at all. It wasn't too late. He would quit gambling + and save his money, and by next winter he'd have enough to go somewhere + and learn to make pictures that amounted to something. He'd show her! + </p> + <p> + After reiterating this resolve in several emphatic forms, Chip's spirits + grew perceptibly lighter—so much so that he rolled a fresh cigarette + and finished the drawing in his hands, which demonstrated the manner in + which a particularly snaky broncho had taken a fall out of Jack Bates in + the corral that morning. + </p> + <p> + Next day, early in the afternoon, the round-up climbed the grade and + started on its long trip over the range, and, after they had gone, the + ranch seemed very quiet and very lonely to the Little Doctor, who revenged + herself by snubbing Dunk so unmercifully that he announced his intention + of taking the next train for Butte, where he lived in the luxury of rich + bachelorhood. As the Little Doctor showed no symptoms of repenting, he + rode sullenly away to Dry Lake, and she employed the rest of the afternoon + writing a full and decidedly prejudiced account to Dr. Cecil of her + quarrel with Chip, whom, she said, she quite hated. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. — What Whizzer Did. + </h2> + <p> + “I guess Happy lost some of his horses, las' night,” said Slim at the + breakfast table next morning. Slim had been kept at the ranch to look + after the fences and the ditches, and was doing full justice to the expert + cookery of the Countess. + </p> + <p> + “What makes yuh think that?” The Old Man poised a bit of tender, broiled + steak upon the end of his fork. + </p> + <p> + “They's a bunch hangin' around the upper fence, an' Whizzer's among 'em. + I'd know that long-legged snake ten miles away.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor looked up quickly. She had never before heard of a + “long-legged snake”—but then, she had not yet made the acquaintance + of Whizzer. + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe you better run 'em into the corral and hold 'em till Shorty + sends some one after 'em,” suggested the Old Man. + </p> + <p> + “I never c'd run 'em in alone, not with Whizzer in the bunch,” objected + Slim. “He's the orneriest cayuse in Chouteau County.” + </p> + <p> + “Whizzer'll make a rattlin' good saddle horse some day, when he's broke + gentle,” argued the Old Man. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! I don't envy Chip the job uh breakin' him, though,” grunted Slim, as + he went out of the door. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast the Little Doctor visited Silver and fed him his customary + ration of lump sugar, helped the Countess tidy the house, and then found + herself at a loss for something to do. She stood looking out into the hazy + sunlight which lay warm on hill and coulee. + </p> + <p> + “I think I'll go up above the grade and make a sketch of the ranch,” she + said to the Countess, and hastily collected her materials. + </p> + <p> + Down by the creek a “cotton-tail” sprang out of her way and kicked itself + out of sight beneath a bowlder. The Little Doctor stood and watched till + he disappeared, before going on again. Further up the bluff a striped + snake gave her a shivery surprise before he glided sinuously away under a + sagebush. She crossed the grade and climbed the steep bluff beyond, + searching for a comfortable place to work. + </p> + <p> + A little higher, she took possession of a great, gray bowlder jutting like + a giant table from the gravelly soil. She walked out upon it and looked + down—a sheer drop of ten or twelve feet to the barren, yellow slope + below. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is perfectly solid,” she soliloquized and stamped one stout, + little boot, to see if the rock would tremble. If human emotions are + possible to a heart of stone, the rock must have been greatly amused at + the test. It stood firm as the hills around it. + </p> + <p> + Della sat down and looked below at the house—a doll's house; at the + toy corrals and tiny sheds and stables. Slim, walking down the hill, was a + mere pigmy—a short, waddling insect. At least, to a girl unused to + gazing from a height, each object seemed absurdly small. Flying U coulee + stretched away to the west, with a silver ribbon drawn carelessly through + it with many a twist and loop, fringed with a tender green of young + leaves. Away and beyond stood the Bear Paws, hazily blue, with splotches + of purple shadows. + </p> + <p> + “I don't blame J. G. for loving this place,” thought the Little Doctor, + drinking in the intoxication of the West with every breath she drew. + </p> + <p> + She had just become absorbed in her work when a clatter arose from the + grade below, and a dozen horses, headed by a tall, rangy sorrel she + surmised was Whizzer, dashed down the hill. Weary and Chip galloped close + behind. They did not look up, and so passed without seeing her. They were + talking and laughing in very good spirits—which the Little Doctor + resented, for some inexplicable reason. She heard them call to Slim to + open the corral gate, and saw Slim run to do their bidding. She forgot her + sketching and watched Whizzer dodge and bolt back, and Chip tear through + the creek bed after him at peril of life and limb. + </p> + <p> + Back and forth, round and round went Whizzer, running almost through the + corral gate, then swerving suddenly and evading his pursuers with an ease + which bordered closely on the marvelous. Slim saddled a horse and joined + in the chase, and the Old Man climbed upon the fence and shouted advice + which no one heard and would not have heeded if they had. + </p> + <p> + As the chase grew in earnestness and excitement, the sympathies of the + Little Doctor were given unreservedly to Whizzer. Whenever a particularly + clever maneuver of his set the men to swearing, she clapped her hands in + sincere, though unheard and unappreciated, applause. + </p> + <p> + “Good boy!” she cried, approvingly, when he dodged Chip and whirled + through the big gate which the Old Man had unwittingly left open. J. G. + leaned perilously forward and shook his fist unavailingly. Whizzer tossed + head and heels alternately and scurried up the path to the very door of + the kitchen, where he swung round and looked back down the hill snorting + triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Shoo, there!” shrilled the Countess, shaking her dish towel at him. + </p> + <p> + “Who—oo-oof-f,” snorted he disdainfully and trotted leisurely round + the corner. + </p> + <p> + Chip galloped up the hill, his horse running heavily. After him came + Weary, liberally applying quirt and mild invective. At the house they + parted and headed the fugitive toward the stables. He shot through the big + gate, lifting his heels viciously at the Old Man as he passed, whirled + around the stable and trotted haughtily past Slim into the corral of his + own accord, quite as if he had meant to do so all along. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever!” exclaimed the Little Doctor, disgustedly, from her perch. + “Whizzer, I'm ashamed of you! I wouldn't have given in like that—but + you gave them a chase, didn't you, my beauty?” + </p> + <p> + The boys flung themselves off their tired horses and went up to the house + to beg the Countess for a lunch, and Della turned resolutely to her + sketching again. + </p> + <p> + She was just beginning to forget that the world held aught but soft + shadows, mellow glow and hazy perspective, when a subdued uproar reached + her from below. She drew an uncertain line or two, frowned and laid her + pencil resignedly in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “It's of no use. I can't do a thing till those cow-punchers take + themselves and their bronchos off the ranch—and may it be soon!” she + told herself, disconsolately and not oversincerely. The best of us are not + above trying to pull the wool over our own eyes, at times. + </p> + <p> + In reality their brief presence made the near future seem very flat and + insipid to the Little Doctor. It was washing all the color out of the + picture, and leaving it a dirty gray. She gazed moodily down at the whirl + of dust in the corral, where Whizzer was struggling to free himself from + the loop Chip had thrown with his accustomed, calm precision. Whatever + Chip did he did thoroughly, with no slurring of detail. Whizzer was fain + to own himself fairly caught. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's got you fast, my beauty!” sighed the Little Doctor, woefully. + “Why didn't you jump over the fence—I think you COULD—and run, + run, to freedom?” She grew quite melodramatic over the humiliation of the + horse she had chosen to champion, and glared resentfully when Chip threw + his saddle, with no gentle hand, upon the sleek back and tightened the + cinches with a few strong, relentless yanks. + </p> + <p> + “Chip, you're an ugly, mean-tempered—that's right, Whizzer! Kick him + if you can—I'll stand by you!” This assertion, you understand, was + purely figurative; the Little Doctor would have hesitated long before + attempting to carry it out literally. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Whizzer, when he tries to ride you, don't you let him! Throw him + clear-over-the STABLE—so there!” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps Whizzer understood the command in some mysterious, telepathic + manner. At any rate, he set himself straightway to obey it, and there was + not a shadow of doubt but that he did his best—but Chip did not + choose to go over the stable. Instead of doing so, he remained in the + saddle and changed ends with his quirt, to the intense rage of the Little + Doctor, who nearly cried. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you brute! You fiend! I'll never speak to you again as long as I + live! Oh, Whizzer, you poor fellow, why do you let him abuse you so? Why + DON'T you throw him clean off the ranch?” + </p> + <p> + This is exactly what Whizzer was trying his best to do, and Whizzer's best + was exceedingly bad for his rider, as a general thing. But Chip calmly + refused to be thrown, and Whizzer, who was no fool, suddenly changed his + tactics and became so meek that his champion on the bluff felt tempted to + despise him for such servile submission to a tyrant in brown chaps and + gray hat—I am transcribing the facts according to the Little + Doctor's interpretation. + </p> + <p> + She watched gloomily while Whizzer, in whose brain lurked no thought of + submission, galloped steadily along behind the bunch which Slim made haste + to liberate, and bided his time. She had expected better—rather, + worse—of him than that. She had not dreamed he would surrender so + tamely. As they crossed the Hog's Back and climbed the steep grade just + below her, she eyed him reproachfully and said again: + </p> + <p> + “Whizzer, I'm ashamed of you!” + </p> + <p> + It did certainly seem that Whizzer heard and felt the pricking of pride at + the reproof. He made a feint at being frightened by a jack rabbit which + sprang out from the shade of a rock and bounced down the hill like a + rubber ball. As if Whizzer had never seen a jack rabbit before!—he + who had been born and reared upon the range among them! It was a feeble + excuse at the best, but he made the most of it and lost no time seeking a + better. + </p> + <p> + He stopped short, sidled against Weary's horse and snorted. Chip, in none + the best humor with him, jerked the reins savagely and dug him with his + spurs, and Whizzer, resenting the affront, whirled and bounded high in the + air. Back down the grade he bucked with the high, rocking, crooked jumps + which none but a Western cayuse can make, while Weary turned in his saddle + and watched with sharp-drawn breaths. There was nothing else that he could + do. + </p> + <p> + Chip was by no means passive. For every jump that Whizzer made the rawhide + quirt landed across his flaring nostrils, and the locked rowels of Chip's + spurs raked the sorrel sides from cinch to flank, leaving crimson streams + behind them. + </p> + <p> + Wild with rage at this clinging cow-puncher whom he could not dislodge, + who stung his sides and head like the hornets in the meadow, Whizzer + gathered himself for a mighty leap as he reached the Hog's Back. Like a + wire spring released, he shot into the air, shook himself in one last, + desperate hope of victory, and, failing, came down with not a joint in his + legs and turned a somersault. + </p> + <p> + A moment, and he struggled to his feet and limped painfully away, crushed + and beaten in spirit. + </p> + <p> + Chip did not struggle. He lay, a long length of brown chaps, + pink-and-white shirt and gray hat, just where he had fallen. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor never could remember getting down that bluff, and her + sketching materials went to amuse the jack rabbits and the birds. Fast as + she flew, Weary was before her and had raised Chip's head upon one arm. + She knelt beside him in the dust, hovering over the white face and still + form like a pitying, little gray angel. Weary looked at her impersonally, + but neither of them spoke in those first, breathless moments. + </p> + <p> + The Old Man, who had witnessed the accident, came puffing laboriously up + the hill, taking the short cut straight across from the stable. + </p> + <p> + “Is he—DEAD?” he yelled while he scrambled. + </p> + <p> + Weary turned his head long enough to look down at him, with the same + impersonal gaze he had bestowed upon the Little Doctor, but he did not + answer the question. He could not, for he did not know. The Little Doctor + seemed not to have heard. + </p> + <p> + The Old Man redoubled his exertions and reached them very much out of + breath. + </p> + <p> + “Is he dead, Dell?” he repeated in an awestruck tone. He feared she would + say yes. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor had taken possession of the brown head. She looked up at + her brother, a very unprofessional pallor upon her face, and down at the + long, brown lashes and at the curved, sensitive lips which held no hint of + red. She pressed the face closer to her breast and shook her head. She + could not speak, just then, for the griping ache that was in her throat. + </p> + <p> + “One of the best men on the ranch gone under, just when we need help the + worst!” complained the Old Man. “Is he hurt bad?” + </p> + <p> + “J. G.,” began the Little Doctor in a voice all the fiercer for being + suppressed, “I want you to kill that horse. Do you hear? If you don't do + it, I will!” + </p> + <p> + “You won't have to, if old Splinter goes down and out,” said Weary, with + quiet meaning, and the Little Doctor gave him a grateful flash of gray + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “How bad is he hurt?” repeated the Old Man, impatiently. “You're supposed + t' be a doctor—don't you know?” + </p> + <p> + “He has a scalp wound which does not seem serious,” said she in an attempt + to be matter-of-fact, “and his left collar bone is broken.” + </p> + <p> + “Doggone it! A broken collar bone ain't mended overnight.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” acquiesced the Little Doctor, “it isn't.” + </p> + <p> + These last two remarks Chip heard. He opened his eyes and looked straight + up into the gray ones above—a long, questioning, rebellious look. He + tried then to rise, to free himself from the bitter ecstasy of those soft, + enfolding arms. Only a broken collar bone! Good thing it was no worse! + Ugh! A spasm of pain contracted his features and drew beads of moisture to + his forehead. The spurned arms once more felt the dead weight of him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” The Little Doctor's voice called to him from afar. + </p> + <p> + Must he answer? He wanted to drift on and on—“Can you tell me where + the pain is?” + </p> + <p> + Pain? Oh, yes, there had been pain—but he wanted to drift. He opened + his eyes again reluctantly; again the pain clutched him. + </p> + <p> + “It's—my—foot.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time the eyes of the Little Doctor left his face and + traveled downward to the spurred boots. One was twisted in a horrible + unnatural position that told the agonizing truth—a badly dislocated + ankle. They returned quickly to the face, and swam full of blinding tears—such + as a doctor should not succumb to. He was not drifting into oblivion now; + his teeth were not digging into his lower lip for nothing, she knew. + </p> + <p> + “Weary,” she said, forgetting to call him properly by name, “ride to the + house and get my medicine case—the little black one. The Countess + knows—and have Slim bring something to carry him home on. And—RIDE!” + </p> + <p> + Weary was gone before she had finished, and he certainly “rode.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have another crippled cow-puncher on yer hands, first thing yuh + know,” grumbled the Old Man, anxiously, as he watched Weary race + recklessly down the hill. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor did not answer. She scarcely heard him. She was stroking + the hair back from Chip's forehead softly, unconsciously, wondering why + she had never before noticed the wave in it—but then, she had + scarcely seen him with his hat off. How silky and soft it felt! And she + had called him all sorts of mean names, and had wanted Whizzer to—she + shuddered and turned sick at the memory of the thud when they struck the + hard road together. + </p> + <p> + “Dell!” exclaimed the Old Man, “you're white's a rag. Doggone it, don't + throw up yer hands at yer first case—brace up!” + </p> + <p> + Chip looked up at her curiously, forgetting the pain long enough to wonder + at her whiteness. Did she have a heart, then, or was it a feminine trait + to turn pale in every emergency? She had not turned so very white when + those kids—he felt inclined to laugh, only for that cussed foot. + Instead he relaxed his vigilance and a groan slipped out before he knew. + </p> + <p> + “Just a minute more and I'll ease the pain for you,” murmured the girl, + compassionately. + </p> + <p> + “All right—so long as you—don't—use—the stomach + pump,” he retorted, with a miserable makeshift of a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” asked the Old Man, but no one explained. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor was struggling with the lump in her throat that he + should try to joke about it. + </p> + <p> + Then Weary was back and holding the little, black case out to her. She + seized it eagerly, slipping Chip's head to her knees that she might use + her hands freely. There was no halting over the tiny vials, for she had + decided just what she must do. + </p> + <p> + She laid something against Chip's closed lips. + </p> + <p> + “Swallow these,” she said, and he obeyed her. “Weary—oh, you knew + what to do, I see. There, lay the coat down there for a pillow.” + </p> + <p> + Relieved of her burden, she rose and went to the poor, twisted foot. + </p> + <p> + Weary and the Old Man watched her go to work systematically and disclose + the swollen, purpling ankle. Very gently she did it, and when she had + administered a merciful anaesthetic, the enthusiasm of the Old Man + demanded speech. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be eternally doggoned! You're onto your job, Dell, doggoned if + yuh ain't. I won't ever josh yuh again about yer doctorin'!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd been around the time I smashed MY ankle,” commented Weary, + fishing for his cigarette book; he was beginning to feel the need of a + quieting smoke. “They hauled me forty miles, to Benton.” + </p> + <p> + “That must have been torture!” shuddered the Little Doctor. “A dislocated + ankle is a most agonizing thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Weary, striking a match, “it sure is, all right.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. — Good Intentions. + </h2> + <p> + “Mr. Davidson, have you nerve enough to help me replace this ankle? The + Countess is too nervous, and J. G. is too awkward.” + </p> + <p> + Chip was lying oblivious to his surroundings or his hurt in the sunny, + south room which Dunk Whitaker chose to call his. + </p> + <p> + “I've never been accused of wanting nerve,” grinned Weary. “I guess I can + stand it if you can.” And a very efficient assistant he proved himself to + be. + </p> + <p> + When the question of a nurse arose, when all had been done that could be + done and Weary had gone, the Little Doctor found herself involved in an + argument with the Countess. The Countess wanted them to send for Bill. + Bill just thought the world and all of Chip, she declared, and would just + love to come. She was positive that Bill was the very one they needed, and + the Little Doctor, who had conceived a violent dislike for Bill, a smirky, + self-satisfied youth addicted to chewing tobacco, red neckties and a + perennial grin, was equally positive he was the very one they did not + want. In despair she retrenched herself behind the assertion that Chip + should choose for himself. + </p> + <p> + “I just know he'll choose Bill,” crowed the Countess after the flicker of + the doctor's skirts. + </p> + <p> + Chip turned his head rebelliously upon the pillow and looked up at her. + Something in his eyes brought to mind certain stormy crises in the + headstrong childhood of the Little Doctor-crises in which she was forced + to submission very much against her will. It was the same mutinous + surrender to overwhelming strength, the same futile defiance of fate. + </p> + <p> + “I came to ask you who you would rather have to nurse you,” she said, + trying to keep the erratic color from crimsoning her cheeks. You see, she + had never had a patient of her very own before, and there were certain + embarrassing complications in having this particular young man in charge. + </p> + <p> + Chip's eyes wandered wistfully to the window, where a warm, spring breeze + flapped the curtains in and out. + </p> + <p> + “How long have I got to lie here?” he asked, reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “A month, at the least—more likely six weeks,” she said with kind + bluntness. It was best he should know the worst at once. + </p> + <p> + Chip turned his face bitterly to the wall for a minute and traced an + impossible vine to its breaking point where the paper had not been + properly matched. Twenty miles away the boys were hurrying through their + early dinner that they might catch up their horses for the afternoon's + work. And they had two good feet to walk on, two sound arms to subdue + restless horseflesh and he was not there! He could fairly smell the sweet, + trampled sod as the horses circled endlessly inside the rope corral, and + hear them snort when a noose swished close. He wondered who would get his + string to ride, and what they would do with his bed. + </p> + <p> + He didn't need it, now; he would lie on wire springs, instead of on the + crisp, prairie grass. He would be waited on like a yearling baby and— + “The Countess just knows you will choose Bill,” interrupted a whimsical + girl voice. + </p> + <p> + Chip said something which the Little Doctor did not try to hear + distinctly. “Don't she think I've had enough misery dealt me for once?” he + asked, without taking his eyes from the poor, broken vine. He rather + pitied the vine—it seemed to have been badly used by fate, just as + he had been. He was sure it had not wanted to stop right there on that + line, as it had been forced to do. HE had not wanted to stop, either. He—“She + says Bill would just love to come,” said the voice, with a bit of a laugh + in it. + </p> + <p> + Chip, turning his head back suddenly, looked into the gray eyes and felt + inexplicably cheered. He almost believed she understood something of what + it all meant to him. And she mercifully refrained from spoken pity, which + he felt he could not have borne just then. His lips took back some of + their curve. + </p> + <p> + “You tell her I wouldn't just love to have him,” he said, grimly. + </p> + <p> + “I'd never dare. She dotes on Bill. Whom DO you want?” + </p> + <p> + “When it comes to that, I don't want anybody. But if you could get Johnny + Beckman to come—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I will—I'll go myself, to make sure of him. Which one is + Johnny?” + </p> + <p> + “Johnny's the red-headed one,” said Chip. + </p> + <p> + “But—they're ALL—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but his head is several shades redder than any of the others,” + interrupted he, quite cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor, observing the twinkle in his eyes, felt her spirits + rise wonderfully. She could not bear that hurt, rebellious, lonely look + which they had worn. + </p> + <p> + “I'll bring him—but I may have to chloroform the Countess to get him + into the house. You must try to sleep, while I'm gone—and don't fret—will + you? You'll get well all the quicker for taking things easily.” + </p> + <p> + Chip smiled faintly at this wholesome advice, and the Little Doctor laid + her hand shyly upon his forehead to test its temperature, drew down the + shade over the south window, and left him in dim, shadowy coolness to + sleep. + </p> + <p> + She came again before she started for Johnny, and found him wide awake and + staring hungrily at the patch of blue sky visible through the window which + faced the East. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to learn to obey orders better than this,” she said, + severely, and took quiet possession of his wrist. “I told you not to fret + about being hurt. I know you hate it—” + </p> + <p> + Chip flushed a little under her touch and the tone in which she spoke the + last words. It seemed to mean that she hated it even more than he did, + having him helpless in the house with her. It hadn't been so long since + she had told him plainly how little she liked him. He was not going to + forget, in a hurry! + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you send me to the hospital?” he demanded, brusquely. “I could + stand the trip, all right.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor, the color coming and going in her cheeks, pressed her + cool fingers against his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Because I want you here to practice on. Do you think I'd let such a + chance escape?” + </p> + <p> + After she was gone, Chip found some things to puzzle over. He felt that he + was no match for the Little Doctor, and for the first time in his life he + deeply regretted his ignorance of woman nature. + </p> + <p> + When the dishes were done, the Countess put her resentment behind her and + went in to sit with Chip, with the best of intentions. The most + disagreeable trait of some disagreeable people is that their intentions + are invariably good. She had her “crochy work,” and Chip groaned inwardly + when he saw her settle herself comfortably in a rocking-chair and unwind + her thread. The Countess had worked hard all her life, and her hands were + red and big-jointed. There was no pleasure in watching their clever + manipulation of the little, steel hook. If it had been the Little Doctor's + hands, now—Chip turned again to the decapitated, pale blue vine with + its pink flowers and no leaves. The Countess counted off “chain 'leven” + and began in a constrained tone, such as some well-meaning people employ + against helpless sick folk. + </p> + <p> + “How're yuh feelin' now? Yuh want a drink, or anything?” + </p> + <p> + Chip did not want a drink, and he felt all right, he guessed. + </p> + <p> + The Countess thought to cheer him a little. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do think it's too bad yuh got t' lay here all through this purty + spring weather. If it had been in the winter, when it's cold and stormy + outside, a person wouldn't mind it s' much. I know yuh must feel purty + blew over it, fer yuh was always sech a hand t' be tearin' around the + country on the dead run, seems like. I always told Mary 't you'n Weary + always rode like the sheriff wa'nt more'n a mile b'hind yuh. An' I s'pose + you feel it all the more, seein' the round-up's jest startin' out. Weary + said yuh was playin' big luck, if yuh only knew enough t' cash in yer + chips at the right time, but he's afraid yuh wouldn't be watching the game + close enough an' ud lose yer pile. I don't know what he was drivin' at, + an' I guess he didn't neither. It's too bad, anyway. I guess yuh didn't + expect t' wind up in bed when yuh rode off up the hill. But as the sayin' + is: 'Man plans an' God displans,' an' I guess it's so. Here yuh are, laid + up fer the summer, Dell says—the las' thing on earth, I guess, that + yuh was lookin' fer. An' yuh rode buckin' bronks right along, too. I never + looked fer Whizzer t' buck yuh off, I must say—yuh got the name uh + bein' sech a good rider, too. But they say 't the pitcher 't's always + goin' t' the well is bound t' git busted sometime, an' I guess your turn + come t' git busted. Anyway—” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't get bucked off,” broke in Chip, angrily. A “bronch fighter” is + not more jealous of his sweetheart than of his reputation as a rider. “A + fellow can't very well make a pretty ride while his horse is turning a + somersault.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, I didn't happen t' se it—I thought Weary said 't yuh got + throwed off on the Hog's Back. Anyway, I don't know's it makes much + difference how yuh happened t' hit the ground—” + </p> + <p> + “I guess it does make a difference,” cried Chip, hotly. His eyes took on + the glitter of fever. “It makes a whole heap of difference, let me tell + you! I'd like to hear Weary or anybody else stand up and tell me that I + got bucked off. I may be pretty badly smashed up, but I'd come pretty near + showing him where he stood.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, yuh needn't go t' work an' git mad about it,” remonstrated the + Countess, dropping her thread in her perturbation at his excitement. The + spool rolled under the bed and she was obliged to get down upon her knees + and claw it back, and she jarred the bed and set Chip's foot to hurting + again something awful. + </p> + <p> + When she finally secured the spool and resumed her chair, Chip's eyes were + tightly closed, but the look of his mouth and the flush in his cheeks, + together with his quick breathing, precluded the belief that he was + asleep. The Countess was not a fool—she saw at once that fever, + which the Little Doctor had feared, was fast taking hold of him. She + rolled her half yard of “edging” around the spool of thread, jabbed the + hook through the lump and went out and told the Old Man that Chip was + getting worse every minute—which was the truth. + </p> + <p> + The Old Map knocked the ashes out of his pipe and went in to look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Did Weary say I got bucked off?” demanded the sick man before the Old Man + was fairly in the room. “If he did, he lied, that's all. I didn't think + Weary'd do me dirt like that—I thought he'd stand by me if anybody + would. He knows I wasn't throwed. I—” + </p> + <p> + “Here, young fellow,” put in the Old Man, calmly, “don't yuh git t' + rampagin' around over nothin'! You turn over there an' go t' sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be hanged if I will!” retorted Chip. “If Weary's taken to lying + about me I'll have it out with him if I break all the rest of my bones + doing it. Do you think I'm going to stand a thing like that? I'll see—” + </p> + <p> + “Easy there, doggone it. I never heard Weary say't yuh got bucked off. + Whizzer turned over on his head, 's near as I c'd make out fer dust. I + took it he turned a summerset.” + </p> + <p> + Chip's befogged brain caught at the last word. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's just what he did. It beats me how Weary could say, or even + think, that I—it was the jack rabbit first—and I told her the + supply was limited—and if we do furnish lots of amusement—but + I guess I made her understand I wasn't so easy as she took me to be. She—” + </p> + <p> + “Hey?” The Old Man could hardly be blamed for losing the drift of Chip's + rapid utterances. + </p> + <p> + “If we want to get them rounded up before the dance, I'll—it's a + good thing it wasn't poison, for seven dead kids at once—” + </p> + <p> + The Old Man knew something about sickness himself. He hurried out, + returning in a moment with a bowl of cool water and a fringed napkin which + he pilfered from the dining-room table, wisely intending to bathe Chip's + head. + </p> + <p> + But Chip would have none of him or his wise intentions. He jerked the wet + napkin from the Old Man's fingers and threw it down behind the bed, + knocked up the bowl of water into the Old Man's face and called him some + very bad names. The Countess came and looked in, and Chip hurled a pillow + at her and called her a bad name also, so that she retreated to the + kitchen with her feelings very much hurt. After that Chip had the south + room to himself until the Little Doctor returned with Johnny. + </p> + <p> + The Old Man, looking rather scared, met her on the porch. The Little + Doctor read his face before she was off her horse. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter? Is he worse?” she demanded, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “That's fer you t' find out. I ain't no doctor. He got on the fight, a + while back, an' took t' throwin' things an' usin' langwidge. He can't git + out uh bed, thank the Lord, or we'd be takin' t' the hills by now.” + </p> + <p> + “Then somebody has it to answer for. He was all right when I left him, two + hours ago, with not a sign of fever. Has the Countess been pestering him?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Countess, popping her head out of the kitchen window and + speaking in an aggrieved tone, “I hope I never pester anybody. I went an' + done all I could t' cheer 'im up, an' that's all the thanks I git fer it. + I must say some folks ain't overburdened with gratitude, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor did not wait to hear her out. She went straight to the + south room, pulling off her gloves on the way. The pillow on the floor + told her an eloquent tale, and she sighed as she picked it up and patted + some shape back into it. Chip stared at her with wide, bright eyes from + the bed. + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose Dr. Cecil Granthum would throw pillows at anybody!” he + remarked, sarcastically, as she placed it very gently under his head. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, if the provocation was great enough. What have they been doing + to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Did Weary say I got bucked off?” he demanded, excitedly. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor was counting his pulse, and waited till she had + finished. It was a high number—much higher than she liked. + </p> + <p> + “No, Weary didn't. How could he? You didn't, you know. I saw it all from + the bluff, and I know the horse turned over upon you. It's a wonder you + weren't killed outright. Now, don't worry about it any more—I expect + it was the Countess told you that. Weary hated dreadfully to leave you. I + wonder if you know how much he thinks of you? I didn't, till I saw how he + looked when you—here, drink this, all of it. You've got to sleep, + you see.” + </p> + <p> + There was a week when the house was kept very still, and the south room + very cool and shadowy, and Chip did not much care who it was that + ministered to him—only that the hands of the Little Doctor were + always soft and soothing on his head and he wished she would keep them + there always, when he was himself enough to wish anything coherently. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. — “The Last Stand.” + </h2> + <p> + To use a trite expression and say that Chip “fought his way back to + health” would be simply stating a fact and stating it mildly. He went + about it much as he would go about gentling a refractory broncho, and with + nearly the same results. + </p> + <p> + His ankle, however, simply could not be hurried or bluffed into premature + soundness, and the Little Doctor was at her wits' end to keep Chip from + fretting himself back into fever, once he was safely pulled out of it. She + made haste to explain the bit of overheard conversation, which he harped + on more than he dreamed, when his head went light in that first week, and + so established a more friendly feeling between them. + </p> + <p> + Still, there was a certain aloofness about him which she could not + conquer, try as she might. Just so far they were comrades—beyond, + Chip walked moodily alone. The Little Doctor did not like that overmuch. + She preferred to know that she fairly understood her friends and was + admitted, sometimes, to their full confidence. She did not relish bumping + her head against a blank wall that was too high to look over or to climb, + and in which there seemed to be no door. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, he talked freely, and amusingly, of his adventures and of the + places he had known, but it was always an impersonal recital, and told + little of his real self or his real feelings. Still, when she asked him, + he told her exactly what he thought about things, whether his opinion + pleased her or not. + </p> + <p> + There were times when he would sit in the old Morris chair and smoke and + watch her make lacey stuff in a little, round frame. Battenberg, she said + it was. He loved to see her fingers manipulate the needle and the thread, + and take wonderful pains with her work—but once she showed him a + butterfly whose wings did not quite match, and he pointed it out to her. + She had been listening to him tell a story of Indians and cowboys and with + some wild riding mixed into it, and—well, she used the wrong stitch, + but no one would notice it in a thousand years. This, her argument. + </p> + <p> + “You'll always know the mistake's there, and you won't get the + satisfaction out of it you would if it was perfect, would you?” argued + Chip, letting his eyes dwell on her face more than was good for him. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor pouted her lips in a way to tempt a man all he could + stand, and snipped out the wing with her scissors and did it over. + </p> + <p> + So with her painting. She started a scene in the edge of the Bad Lands + down the river. Chip knew the place well. There was a heated discussion + over the foreground, for the Little Doctor wanted him to sketch in some + Indian tepees and some squaws for her, and Chip absolutely refused to do + so. He said there were no Indians in that country, and it would spoil the + whole picture, anyway. The Little Doctor threatened to sketch them + herself, drawing on her imagination and what little she knew of Indians, + but something in his eyes stayed her hand. She left the easel in disgust + and refused to touch it again for a week. + </p> + <p> + She was to spend a long day with Miss Satterly, the schoolma'am, and + started off soon after breakfast one morning. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you'll find something to keep you out of mischief while I'm gone,” + she remarked, with a pretty, authoritative air. “Make him take his + medicine, Johnny, and don't let him have the crutches. Well, I think I + shall hide them to make sure.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to goodness you had that picture done,” grumbled Chip. “It seems + to me you're doing a heap of running around, lately. Why don't you finish + it up? Those lonesome hills are getting on my nerves.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll cover it up,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Let it be. I like to look at them.” Chip leaned back in his chair and + watched her, a hunger greater than he knew in his eyes. It was most + awfully lonesome when she was gone all day, and last night she had been + writing all the evening to Dr. Cecil Granthum—damn him! Chip always + hitched that invective to the unknown doctor's name, for some reason he + saw fit not to explain to himself. He didn't see what she could find to + write about so much, for his part. And he did hate a long day with no one + but Johnny to talk to. + </p> + <p> + He craned his neck to keep her in view as long as possible, drew a long, + discontented breath and settled himself more comfortably in the chair + where he spent the greater part of his waking hours. + </p> + <p> + “Hand me the tobacco, will you, kid?” + </p> + <p> + He fished his cigarette book from his pocket. “Thanks!” He tore a narrow + strip from the paper and sifted in a little tobacco. + </p> + <p> + “Now a match, kid, and then you're done.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny placed the matches within easy reach, shoved a few magazines close + to Chip's elbow, and stretched himself upon the floor with a book. + </p> + <p> + Chip lay back against the cushions and smoked lazily, his eyes half + closed, dreaming rather than thinking. The unfinished painting stood + facing him upon its easel, and his eyes idly fixed upon it. He knew the + place so well. Jagged pinnacles, dotted here and there with scrubby pines, + hemmed in a tiny basin below—where was blank canvas. He went + mentally over the argument again, and from that drifted to a scene he had + witnessed in that same basin, one day—but that was in the winter. + Dirty gray snow drifts, where a chinook had cut them, and icy side hills + made the place still drearier. And the foreground—if the Little + Doctor could get that, now, she would be doing something!—ah! that + foreground. A poor, half-starved range cow with her calf which the + round-up had overlooked in the fall, stood at bay against a steep cut + bank. Before them squatted five great, gaunt wolves intent upon fresh beef + for their supper. But the cow's horns were long, and sharp, and + threatening, and the calf snuggled close to her side, shivering with the + cold and the fear of death. The wolves licked their cruel lips and their + eyes gleamed hungrily—but the eyes of the cow answered them, gleam + for gleam. If it could be put upon canvas just as he had seen it, with the + bitter, biting cold of a frozen chinook showing gray and sinister in the + slaty sky— “Kid!” + </p> + <p> + “Huh?” Johnny struggled reluctantly back to Montana. + </p> + <p> + “Get me the Little Doctor's paint and truck, over on that table, and slide + that easel up here.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny stared, opened his mouth to speak, then wisely closed it and did as + he was bidden. Philosophically he told himself it was Chip's funeral, if + the Little Doctor made a kick. + </p> + <p> + “All right, kid.” Chip tossed the cigarette stub out of the window. “You + can go ahead and read, now. Lock the door first, and don't you bother me—not + on your life.” + </p> + <p> + Then Chip plunged headlong into the Bad Lands, so to speak. + </p> + <p> + A few dabs of dirty white, here and there, a wholly original manipulation + of the sky—what mattered the method, so he attained the result? Half + an hour, and the hills were clutched in the chill embrace of a “frozen + chinook” such as the Little Doctor had never seen in her life. But Johnny, + peeping surreptitiously over Chip's shoulder, stared at the change; then, + feeling the spirit of it, shivered in sympathy with the barren hills. + </p> + <p> + “Hully gee,” he muttered under his breath, “he's sure a corker t' paint + cold that fair makes yer nose sting.” And he curled up in a chair behind, + where he could steal a look, now and then, without fear of detection. + </p> + <p> + But Chip was dead to all save that tiny basin in the Bad Lands—to + the wolves and their quarry. His eyes burned as they did when the fever + held him; each cheek bone glowed flaming red. + </p> + <p> + As wolf after wolf appeared with what, to Johnny, seemed uncanny + swiftness, and squatted, grinning and sinister, in a relentless half + circle, the book slipped unheeded to the floor with a clatter that failed + to rouse the painter, whose ears were dulled to all else than the pitiful + blat of a shivering, panic-stricken calf whose nose sought his mother's + side for her comforting warmth and protection. + </p> + <p> + The Countess rapped on the door for dinner, and Johnny rose softly and + tiptoed out to quiet her. May he be forgiven the lies he told that day, of + how Chip's head ached and he wanted to sleep and must not be disturbed, by + strict orders of the Little Doctor. The Countess, to whom the very name of + the Little Doctor was a fetich, closed all intervening doors and walked on + her toes in the kitchen, and Johnny rejoiced at the funeral quiet which + rested upon the house. + </p> + <p> + Faster flew the brush. Now the eyes of the cow glared desperate defiance. + One might almost see her bony side, ruffled by the cutting north wind, + heave with her breathing. She was fighting death for herself and her baby—but + for how long? Already the nose of one great, gray beast was straight + uplifted, sniffing, impatient. Would they risk a charge upon those lowered + horns? The dark pines shook their feathery heads hopelessly. A little + while perhaps, and then—Chip laid down the brush and sank back in + the chair. Was the sun so low? He could do no more—yes, he took up a + brush and added the title: “The Last Stand.” + </p> + <p> + He was very white, and his hand shook. Johnny leaned over the back of the + chair, his eyes glued to the picture. + </p> + <p> + “Gee,” he muttered, huskily, “I'd like t' git a whack at them wolves + once.” + </p> + <p> + Chip turned his head until he could look at the lad's face. “What do you + think of it, kid?” he asked, shakily. + </p> + <p> + Johnny did not answer for a moment. It was hard to put what he felt into + words. “I dunno just how t' say it,” he said, gropingly, at last, “but it + makes me want t' go gunnin' fer them wolves b'fore they hamstring her. It—well—it + don't seem t' me like it was a pitcher, somehow. It seems like the reel + thing, kinda.” + </p> + <p> + Chip moved his head languidly upon the cushion. + </p> + <p> + “I'm dead tired, kid. No, I'm not hungry, nor I don't want any coffee, or + anything. Just roll this chair over to the bed, will you? I'm—dead-tired.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny was worried. He did not know what the Little Doctor would say, for + Chip had not eaten his dinner, or taken his medicine. Somehow there had + been that in his face that had made Johnny afraid to speak to him. He went + back to the easel and looked long at the picture, his heart bursting with + rage that he could not take his rifle and shoot those merciless, grinning + brutes. Even after he had drawn the curtain before it and stood the easel + in its accustomed place, he kept lifting the curtain to take another look + at that wordless tragedy of the West. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. — Art Critics. + </h2> + <p> + It was late the next forenoon when the Little Doctor, feeling the spirit + of artistic achievement within her, gathered up brushes and paints for a + couple hours' work. Chip, sitting by the window smoking a cigarette, + watched her uneasily from the tail of his eye. Looking back to yesterday's + “spasm,” as he dubbed it mentally, he was filled with a great and + unaccountable shyness. What had seemed so real to him then he feared + to-day to face, as trivial and weak. + </p> + <p> + He wanted to cry “Stop!” when she laid hand to the curtain, but he looked, + instead, out across the coulee to the hills beyond, the blood surging + unevenly through his veins. He felt when she drew the cloth aside; she + stopped short off in the middle of telling him something Miss Satterly had + said—some whimsical thing—and he could hear his heart pounding + in the silence which followed. The little, nickel alarm clock + tick-tick-ticked with such maddening precision and speed that Chip wanted + to shy a book at it, but his eyes never left the rocky bluff opposite, and + the clock ticked merrily on. + </p> + <p> + One minute—two—the silence was getting unbearable. He could + not endure another second. He looked toward her; she stood, one hand full + of brushes, gazing, white-faced, at “The Last Stand.” As he looked, a tear + rolled down the cheek nearest him and compelled him to speech. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” His voice seemed to him rough and brutal, but he did + not mean it so. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor drew a long, quivering breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the poor, brave thing!” she said, in a hushed tone. She turned + sharply away and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “I expect I spoiled your picture, all right—but I told you I'd get + into mischief if you went gadding around and left me alone.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor stealthily wiped her eyes, hoping to goodness Chip had + not seen that they had need of wiping. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you tell me you could paint like that?” She turned upon him + fiercely. “Here you've sat and looked on at me daubing things up—and + if I'd known you could do better than—” Looking again at the canvas + she forgot to finish. The fascination of it held her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not in the habit of going around the country shouting what I don't + know,” said Chip, defensively. “You've taken heaps of lessons, and I never + did. I just noticed the color of everything, and—oh, I don't know—it's + in me to do those things. I can't help trying to paint and draw.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose old Von Heim would have something to say of your way of doing + clouds—but you got the effect, though—better than he did, + sometimes. And that cow—I can see her breathe, I tell you! And the + wolves—oh, don't sit there and smoke your everlasting cigarettes and + look so stoical over it! What are you made of, anyway? Can't you feel + proud? Oh, don't you know what you've done? I—I'd like to shake you—so + now!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't much blame you. I knew I'd no business to meddle. Maybe, if + you'll touch it up a little—” + </p> + <p> + “I'll not touch a brush to THAT. I—I'm afraid I might kill the cow.” + She gave a little, hysterical laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think you're rather excitable—for a doctor?” scoffed + Chip, and her chin went up for a minute. + </p> + <p> + “I'd like t' kill them wolves,” said Johnny, coming in just then. + </p> + <p> + “Turn the thing around, kid, so I can see it,” commanded Chip, suddenly. + “I worked at it yesterday till the colors all ran together and I couldn't + tell much about it.” + </p> + <p> + Johnny turned the easel, and Chip, looking, fell silent. Had HIS hand + guided the brush while that scene grew from blank canvas to palpitating + reality? Verily, he had “builded better than he knew.” Something in his + throat gripped, achingly and dry. + </p> + <p> + “Did anybody see it yesterday?” asked the Little Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “No—not unless the kid—” “I never said a word about it,” + denied Johnny, hastily and vehemently. “I lied like the dickens. I said + you had headache an' was tryin' t' sleep it off. I kep' the Countess + teeterin' around on her toes all afternoon.” Johnny giggled at the memory + of it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm going to call them all in and see what they say,” declared she, + starting for the door. + </p> + <p> + “I don't THINK you will,” began Chip, rebelliously, blushing over his + achievement like a girl over her graduation essay. “I don't want to be—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we needn't tell them you did it,” suggested she. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you're willing to shoulder the blame,” compromised Chip, much + relieved. He hated to be fussed over. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor regarded him attentively a moment, smiled queerly to + herself and stood back to get a better view of the painting. + </p> + <p> + “I'll shoulder the blame—and maybe claim the glory. It was mine in + the first place, you know.” She watched him from under her lashes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's yours, all right,” said Chip, readily, but something went out + of his face and lodged rather painfully in the deepest corner of his + heart. He ignored it proudly and smiled back at her. + </p> + <p> + “Do such things really happen, out here?” she asked, hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “I'd tell a man!” said Chip, his eyes returning to the picture. “I was + riding through that country last winter, and I came upon that very cow, + just as you see her there, in that same basin. That's how I came to paint + it into your foreground; I got to thinking about it, and I couldn't help + trying to put it on canvas. Only, I opened up on the wolves with my + six-shooter, and I got two; that big fellow ready to howl, there, and that + one next the cut-bank. The rest broke out down the coulee and made for the + breaks, where I couldn't follow. They—” + </p> + <p> + “Say? Old Dunk's comin',” announced Johnny, hurrying in. “Why don't yuh + let 'im see the pitcher an' think all the time the Little Doctor done it? + Gee, it'd be great t' hear 'im go on an' praise it up, like he always + does, an' not know the diffrunce.” + </p> + <p> + “Johnny, you're a genius,” cried she, effusively. “Don't tell a soul that + Chip had a brush in his hand yesterday, will you? He—he'd rather not + have anyone know he did anything to the painting, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, I won't tell,” interrupted Johnny, gruffly, eying his divinity with + distrust for the first time in his short acquaintance with her. Was she + mean enough to claim it really? Just at first, as a joke, it would be fun, + but afterward, oh, she wouldn't do a thing like that! + </p> + <p> + “Don't you bring Dunk in here,” warned Chip, “or things might happen. I + don't want to run up against him again till I've got two good feet to + stand on.” + </p> + <p> + Their relation was a thing to be watched over tenderly, since Chip's month + of invalidism. Dunk had notions concerning master and servant, and + concerning Chip as an individual. He did not fancy occupying the back + bedroom while Chip reigned in his sunny south room, waited on, petted + (Dunk applied the term petted) and amused indefatigably by the Little + Doctor. And there had been a scene, short but exceeding “strenuous,” over + a pencil sketch which graphically portrayed an incident Dunk fain would + forget—the incident of himself as a would-be broncho fighter, with + Banjo, of vigilante fame, as the means of his downfall—physical, + mental and spiritual. Dunk might, in time, have forgiven the crippled + ankle, and the consequent appropriation of his room, but never would he + forgive the merciless detail of that sketch. + </p> + <p> + “I'll carry easel and all into the parlor, and leave the door open so you + can hear what they all say,” said the Little Doctor, cheerfully. “I wish + Cecil could be here to-day. I always miss Cecil when there's anything + especial going on in the way of fun.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” answered Chip, and made himself another cigarette. He would be glad + when he could hobble out to some lonely spot and empty his soul of the + profane language stored away opposite the name of Dr. Cecil Granthum. + There is so little comfort in swearing all inside, when one feels deeply + upon a subject. + </p> + <p> + “It's a wonder you wouldn't send for him if you miss him that bad,” he + remarked, after a minute, hoping the Little Doctor would not find anything + amiss with his tone, which he meant should be cordial and interested—and + which evinced plenty of interest, of a kind, but was curiously lacking in + cordiality. + </p> + <p> + “I did beg, and tease, and entreat—but Cecil's in a hospital—as + a physician, you understand, not as a patient, and can't get off just yet. + In a month or two, perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + Dinner, called shrilly by the Countess, interrupted her, and she flitted + out of the room looking as little like a lovelorn maiden as she did like a + doctor—which was little indeed. + </p> + <p> + “She begged, and teased, and entreated,” repeated Chip, savagely to + himself when the door closed upon her, and fell into gloomy meditation, + which left him feeling that there was no good thing in this wicked world—no, + not one—that was not appropriated by some one with not sense enough + to understand and appreciate his blessing. + </p> + <p> + After dinner the Little Doctor spoke to the unsuspecting critics. + </p> + <p> + “That picture which I started a couple of weeks ago is finished at last, + and I want you good people to come and tell me what you think of it. I + want you all—you, Slim, and Louise, you are to come and give your + opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know the first thing about paintin',” remonstrated the + Countess, coming in from the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + The Old Man lighted his pipe and followed her into the parlor with the + others, and Slim rolled a cigarette to hide his embarrassment, for the + role of art critic was new to him. + </p> + <p> + There was some nervousness in the Little Doctor's manner as she set the + easel to her liking and drew aside the curtain. She did not mean to be + theatrical about it, but Chip, watching through the open door, fancied so, + and let his lip curl a trifle. He was not in a happy frame of mind just + then. + </p> + <p> + A silence fell upon the group. The Old Man took his pipe from his mouth + and stared. + </p> + <p> + The cheeks of the Little Doctor paled and grew pink again. She laughed a + bit, as though she would much rather cry. + </p> + <p> + “Say something, somebody, quick!” she cried, when her nerves would bear no + more. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do think it's awfully good, Dell,” began the Countess. + </p> + <p> + “By golly, I don't see how you done that without seein' it happen,” + exclaimed Slim, looking very dazed and mystified. + </p> + <p> + “That's a Diamond Bar cow,” remarked J. G., abstractedly. “That outfit + never does git half their calves. I remember the last time I rode through + there last winter, that cow—doggone it, Dell, how the dickens did + you get that cow an' calf in? You must a had a photograph t' work from.” + </p> + <p> + “By golly, that's right,” chimed in Slim. “That there's the cow I had sech + a time chasin' out uh the bunch down on the bottom. I run her till I was + plum sick, an' so was she, by golly. I'd know her among a thousand. Yuh + got her complete—all but the beller, an', by golly, yuh come blame + near gittin' that, too!” Slim, always slow and very much in earnest, + gradually became infused with the spirit of the scene. “Jest look at that + ole gray sinner with his nose r'ared straight up in the air over there! By + golly, he's callin' all his wife's relations t' come an' help 'em out. + He's thinkin' the ole Diamon' Bar's goin' t' be one too many fer 'em. She + shore looks fighty, with 'er head down an' 'er eyes rollin' all ways t' + oncet, ready fer the first darn cuss that makes a crooked move! An' they + know it, too, by golly, er they wouldn't hang back like they're a-doin'. + I'd shore like t' be cached behind that ole pine stub with a thirty—thirty + an' a fist full uh shells—I'd shore make a scatteration among 'em! A + feller could easy—” + </p> + <p> + “But, Slim, they're nothing but paint!” The Little Doctor's eyes were + shining. + </p> + <p> + Slim turned red and grinned sheepishly at the others. + </p> + <p> + “I kinda fergot it wasn't nothin' but a pitcher,” he stammered, + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “That is the gist of the whole matter,” said Dunk. “You couldn't ask for a + greater compliment, or higher praise, than that, Miss Della. One forgets + that it is a picture. One only feels a deep longing for a good rifle. You + must let me take it with me to Butte. That picture will make you famous + among cattlemen, at least. That is to say, out West, here. And if you will + sell it I am positive I can get you a high price for it.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the Little Doctor involuntarily sought the Morris chair in the + next room; but Chip was looking out across the coulee, as he had a habit + of doing lately, and seemed not to hear what was going on in the parlor. + He was indifference personified, if one might judge from his outward + appearance. The Little Doctor turned her glance resentfully to her + brother's partner. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean all that?” she demanded of him. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly do. It is great, Miss Della. I admit that it is not quite + like your other work; the treatment seems different, in places, and—er—stronger. + It is the best picture of the kind that I have ever seen, I think. It + holds one, in a way—” + </p> + <p> + “By golly, I bet Chip took a pitcher uh that!” exclaimed Slim, who had + been doing some hard thinking. “He was tellin' us last winter about ridin' + up on that ole Diamon' Bar cow with a pack uh wolves around her, an' her + a-standin' 'em off, an' he shot two uh the wolves. Yes, sir; Chip jest + about got a snap shot of 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, doggone it! what if he did?” The Old Man turned jealously upon him. + “It ain't everyone that kin paint like that, with nothin' but a little + kodak picture t' go by. Doggone it! I don't care if Dell had a hull apurn + full uh kodak pictures that Chip took—it's a rattlin' good piece uh + work, all the same.” + </p> + <p> + “I ain't sayin' anything agin' the pitcher,” retorted Slim. “I was jest + wonderin' how she happened t' git that cow down s' fine, brand 'n all, + without some kind uh pattern t' go by. S' fur 's the pitcher goes, it's + about as good 's kin be did with paint, I guess. I ain't ever seen + anything in the pitcher line that looked any natcherler.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do think it's just splendid!” gurgled the Countess. “It's every + bit as good 's the one Mary got with a year's subscription t' the + Household Treasure fer fifty cents. That one's got some hounds chasin' a + deer and a man hidin' in 'the bushes, sost yuh kin jest see his head. It's + an awful purty pitcher, but this one's jest as good. I do b'lieve it's a + little bit better, if anything. Mary's has got some awful nice, green + grass, an' the sky's an awful purty blue—jest about the color uh my + blue silk waist. But yuh can't expect t' have grass an' sky like that in + the winter, an' this is more of a winter pitcher. It looks awful cold an' + lonesome, somehow, an' it makes yuh want t' cry, if yuh look at it long + enough.” + </p> + <p> + The critics stampeded, as they always did when the Countess began to talk. + </p> + <p> + “You better let Dunk take it with him, Dell,” was the parting advice of + the Old Man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. — Convalescence. + </h2> + <p> + “You don't mind, do you?” The Little Doctor was visibly uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “Mind what?” Chip's tone was one of elaborate unconsciousness. “Mind + Dunk's selling the picture for you? Why should I? It's yours, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you have some interest in it yourself,” she said, without looking + at him. “You don't think I mean to—to—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think anything, except that it's your picture, and I put in a + little time meddling with your property for want of something else to do. + All I painted doesn't cover one quarter of the canvas, and I guess you've + done enough for me to more than make up. I guess you needn't worry over + that cow and calf—you're welcome to them both; and if you can get a + bounty on those five wolves, I'll be glad to have you. Just keep still + about my part of it.” + </p> + <p> + Chip really felt that way about it, after the first dash of wounded pride. + He could never begin to square accounts with the Little Doctor, anyhow, + and he was proud that he could do something for her, even if it was + nothing more than fixing up a picture so that it rose considerably above + mediocrity. He had meant it that way all along, but the suspicion that she + was quite ready to appropriate his work rather shocked him, just at first. + No one likes having a gift we joy in bestowing calmly taken from our hands + before it has been offered. He wanted her to have the picture for her very + own—but—but—He had not thought of the possibility of her + selling it, or of Dunk as her agent. It was all right, of course, if she + wanted to do that with it, but—There was something about it that + hurt, and the hurt of it was not less, simply because he could not locate + the pain. + </p> + <p> + His mind fidgeted with the subject. If he could have saddled Silver and + gone for a long gallop over the prairie land, he could have grappled with + his rebellious inner self and choked to death several unwelcome emotions, + he thought. But there was Silver, crippled and swung uncomfortably in + canvas wrappings in the box stall, and here was himself, crippled and held + day after day in one room and one chair—albeit a very pleasant room + and a very comfortable chair—and a gallop as impossible to one of + them as to the other. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish—” The Little Doctor checked herself abruptly, and hummed + a bit of coon song. + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish?” Chip pushed his thoughts behind him, and tried to + speak in his usual manner. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much. I was just wishing Cecil could see 'The Last Stand.'” + </p> + <p> + Chip said absolutely nothing for five minutes, and for an excellent + reason. There was not a single thought during that time which would sound + pretty if put into words, and he had no wish to shock the Little Doctor. + </p> + <p> + After that day a constraint fell upon them both, which each felt keenly + and neither cared to explain away. “The Last Stand” was tacitly dismissed + from their conversation, of which there grew less and less as the days + passed. + </p> + <p> + Then came a time when Chip strongly resented being looked upon as an + invalid, and Johnny was sent home, greatly to his sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Chip hobbled about the house on crutches, and chafed and fretted, and + managed to be very miserable indeed because he could not get out and ride + and clear his brain and heart of some of their hurt—for it had come + to just that; he had been compelled to own that there was a hurt which + would not heal in a hurry. + </p> + <p> + It was a very bitter young man who, lounging in the big chair by the + window one day, suddenly snorted contempt at a Western story he had been + reading and cast the magazine—one of the Six Leading—clean + into the parlor where it sprawled its artistic leaves in the middle of the + floor. The Little Doctor was somewhere—he never seemed to know just + where, nowadays—and the house was lonesome as an isolated peak in + the Bad Lands. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had the making of the laws. I'd put a bounty on all the darn + fools that think they can write cowboy stories just because they rode past + a roundup once, on a fast train,” he growled, reaching for his tobacco + sack. “Huh! I'd like to meet up with the yahoo that wrote that rank yarn! + I'd ask him where he got his lack of information. Huh! A cow-puncher + togged up like he was going after the snakiest bronk in the country, when + he was only going to drive to town in a buckboard! 'His pistol belt and + dirk and leathern chaps'—oh, Lord; oh, Lord! And spurs! I wonder if + he thinks it takes spurs to ride a buckboard? Do they think, back East, + that spurs grow on a man's heels out here and won't come off? Do they + think we SLEEP in 'em, I wonder?” He drew a match along the arm of the + chair where the varnish was worn off. “They think all a cow-puncher has to + do is eat and sleep and ride fat horses. I'd like to tell some of them a + few things that they don't—” + </p> + <p> + “I've brought you a caller, Chip. Aren't you glad to see him?” It was the + Little Doctor at the window, and the laugh he loved was in her voice and + in her eyes, that it hurt him to meet, lately. + </p> + <p> + The color surged to his face, and he leaned from the window, his thin, + white hand outstretched caressingly. + </p> + <p> + “I'd tell a man!” he said, and choked a little over it. “Silver, old boy!” + </p> + <p> + Silver, nickering softly, limped forward and nestled his nose in the palm + of his master. + </p> + <p> + “He's been out in the corral for several days, but I didn't tell you—I + wanted it for a surprise,” said the Little Doctor. “This is his longest + trip, but he'll soon be well now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I'd give a good deal if I could walk as well as he can,” said Chip, + gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “He wasn't hurt as badly as you were. You ought to be thankful you can + walk at all, and that you won't limp all your life. I was afraid for a + while, just at first—” + </p> + <p> + “You were? Why didn't you tell me?” Chip's eyes were fixed sternly upon + her. + </p> + <p> + “Because I didn't want to. It would only have made matters worse, anyway. + And you won't limp, you know, if you're careful for a while longer. I'm + going to get Silver his sugar. He has sugar every day.” + </p> + <p> + Silver lifted his head and looked after her inquiringly, whinnied + complainingly, and prepared to follow as best he could. + </p> + <p> + “Silver—oh, Silver!” Chip snapped his fingers to attract his + attention. “Hang the luck, come back here! Would you throw down your best + friend for that girl? Has she got to have you, too?” His voice grew + wistfully rebellious. “You're mine. Come back here, you little fool—she + doesn't care.” + </p> + <p> + Silver stopped at the corner, swung his head and looked back at Chip, + beckoning, coaxing, swearing under his breath. His eyes sought for sign of + his goddess, who had disappeared most mysteriously. Throwing up his head, + he sent a protest shrilling through the air, and looked no more at Chip. + </p> + <p> + “I'm coming, now be still. Oh, don't you dare paw with your lame leg! Why + didn't you stay with your master?” + </p> + <p> + “He's no use for his master, any more,” said Chip, with a hurt laugh. “A + woman always does play the—mischief, somehow. I wonder why? They + look innocent enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till your turn comes, and perhaps you'll learn why,” retorted she. + </p> + <p> + Chip, knowing that his turn had come, and come to tarry, found nothing to + say. + </p> + <p> + “Beside,” continued the Little Doctor, “Silver didn't want me so much—it + was the sugar. I hope you aren't jealous of me, because I know his heart + is big enough to hold us both.” + </p> + <p> + She stayed a long half hour, and was so gay that it seemed like old times + to listen to her laugh and watch her dimples while she talked. Chip forgot + that he had a quarrel with fate, and he also forgot Dr. Cecil Granthum, of + Gilroy, Ohio—until Slim rode up and handed the Little Doctor a + letter addressed in that bold, up-and-down writing that Chip considered a + little the ugliest specimen of chirography he had ever seen in his life. + </p> + <p> + “It's from Cecil,” said the Little Doctor, simply and unnecessarily, and + led Silver back down the hill. + </p> + <p> + Chip, gazing at that tiresome bluff across the coulee, renewed his quarrel + with fate. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. — The Spoils of Victory. + </h2> + <p> + “I wish, while I'm gone, you'd paint me another picture. Will you, + PLEASE?” + </p> + <p> + When a girl has big, gray eyes that half convince you they are not gray at + all, but brown, or blue, at times, and a way of using them that makes a + fellow heady, like champagne, and a couple of dimples that will dodge into + her cheeks just when a fellow is least prepared to resist them—why, + what can a fellow do but knuckle under and say yes, especially when she + lets her head tip to one side a little and says “please” like that? + </p> + <p> + Chip tried not to look at her, but he couldn't help himself very well + while she stood directly in front of him. He compromised weakly instead of + refusing point-blank, as he told himself he wanted to do. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—maybe I can't, again.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you can, though. Here's an eighteen by twenty-four canvas, and here + are all the paints I have in the house, and the brushes. I'll expect to + see something worth while, when I return.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but if I can't—” + </p> + <p> + “Look here. Straight in the eye, if you please! Now, will you TRY?” + </p> + <p> + Chip, looking into her eyes that were laughing, but with a certain + earnestness behind the laugh, threw up his hands—mentally, you know. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'll try. How long are you going to be gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, perhaps a week,” she said, lightly, and Chip's heart went heavy. + </p> + <p> + “You may paint any kind of picture you like, but I'd rather you did + something like 'The Last Stand'—only better. And put your brand, as + you call it, in one corner.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't sell it, will you?” The words slipped out before he knew. + </p> + <p> + “No—no, I won't sell it, for it won't be mine. It's for yourself + this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there won't be any picture,” said Chip, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, there will,” smiled the Little Doctor, sweetly, and went away + before he could contradict her. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps a week! Heavens, that was seven days, and every day had at least + sixteen waking hours. How would it be when it was years, then? When Dr. + Cecil Granthum—(er—no, I won't. The invective attached to that + gentleman's name was something not to be repeated here.) At any rate, a + week was a long, long time to put in without any gray eyes or any laugh, + or any dimples, or, in short, without the Little Doctor. He could not see, + for his part, why she wanted to go gadding off to the Falls with Len Adams + and the schoolma'am, anyway. Couldn't they get along without her? They + always had, before she came to the country; but, for that matter, so had + he. The problem was, how was he going to get along without her for the + rest of his life? What did they want to stay a week for? Couldn't they buy + everything they wanted in a day or so? And the Giant Spring wasn't such + great shakes, nor the Rainbow Falls, that they need to hang around town a + week just to look at them. And the picture—what was he such a fool + for? Couldn't he say no with a pair of gray eyes staring into his? It + seemed not. He supposed he must think up something to daub on there—the + poorer the better. + </p> + <p> + That first day Chip smoked something like two dozen cigarettes, gazed out + across the coulee till his eyes ached, glared morosely at the canvas on + the easel, which stared back at him till the dull blankness of it stamped + itself upon his brain and he could see nothing else, look where he might. + Whereupon he gathered up hat and crutches, and hobbled slowly down the + hill to tell Silver his troubles. + </p> + <p> + The second day threatened to be like the first. Chip sat by the window and + smoked; but, little by little, the smoke took form and substance until, + when he turned his eyes to the easel, a picture looked back at him—even + though to other eyes the canvas was yet blank and waiting. + </p> + <p> + There was no Johnny this time to run at his beckoning. He limped about on + his crutches, collected all things needful, and sat down to work. + </p> + <p> + As he sketched and painted, with a characteristic rapidity that was + impatient of the slightest interruption yet patient in its perfectness of + detail, the picture born of the smoke grew steadily upon the canvas. + </p> + <p> + It seemed, at first, that “The Last Stand” was to be repeated. There were + the same jagged pinnacles and scrubby pines, held in the fierce grip of + the frozen chinook. The same? But there was a difference, not to be + explained, perhaps, but certainly to be felt. The Little Doctor's hills + were jagged, barren hills; her pines were very nice pines indeed. Chip's + hills were jagged, they were barren—they—were desolate; his + pines were shuddering, lonely pines; for he had wandered alone among them + and had caught the Message of the Wilderness. His sky was the cold, + sinister sky of “The Last Stand”—but it was colder, more sinister, + for it was night. A young moon hung low in the west, its face half hidden + behind a rift of scurrying snow clouds. The tiny basin was shadowy and + vague, the cut-bank a black wall touched here and there by a quivering + shaft of light. + </p> + <p> + There was no threatening cow with lowered horns and watchful eye; there + was no panic-stricken calf to whip up her flagging courage with its trust + in her. + </p> + <p> + The wolves? Yes, there were the wolves—but there were more of them. + They were not sitting in a waiting half circle—they were scattered, + unwatchful. Two of them in the immediate foreground were wrangling over a + half-gnawed bone. The rest of the pack were nosing a heap pitifully + eloquent. + </p> + <p> + As before, so now they tricked the eye into a fancy that they lived. One + could all but hear the snarls of the two standing boldly in the moonlight, + the hair all bristly along the necks, the white fangs gleaming between + tense-drawn lips. One felt tempted to brace oneself for the rush that was + to come. + </p> + <p> + For two days Chip shut himself in his room and worked through the long + hours of daylight, jealous of the minutes darkness stole from him. + </p> + <p> + He clothed the feast in a merciful shade which hid the repugnance and left + only the pathos—two long, sharp horns which gleamed in the moonlight + but were no longer threatening. + </p> + <p> + He centered his energy upon the two wolves in the foreground, grimly + determined that Slim should pray for a Gatling gun when he saw them. + </p> + <p> + The third day, when he was touching up the shoulders of one of the + combatants, a puff of wind blew open the door which led to the parlor. He + did not notice it and kept steadily at work, painting his “brand” into a + corner. Beneath the stump and its splinter he lettered his name—a + thing he had never done before. + </p> + <p> + “Well—I'll be—doggoned!” + </p> + <p> + Chip jumped half out of his chair, giving his lame ankle a jolt which made + him grind his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Darn it, Chip, did YOU do that?” + </p> + <p> + “It kind of looks that way, don't it?” Chip was plainly disconcerted, and + his ankle hurt. + </p> + <p> + “H—m-m.” The Old Man eyed it sharply a minute. “It's a wonder you + wouldn't paint in a howl or two, while you're about it. I suppose that's a + mate to—doggone you, Chip, why didn't yuh tell us you painted that + other one?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't,” said Chip, getting red and uncomfortable, “except the cow and—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, except the part that makes the picture worth the paint it's done + with!” snorted the Old Man. “I must say I never thought that uh Dell!” + </p> + <p> + “Thought what?” flared Chip, hotly, forgetting everything but that the + Little Doctor was being censured. “It was her picture, she started it and + intended to finish it. I painted on it one day when she was gone, and she + didn't know it. I told her not to tell anyone I had anything to do with + it. It wasn't her fault.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” grunted the Old Man, as if he had his own opinion on that matter. + “Well, it's a rattling good picture—but this one's better. Poor ole + Diamond Bar—she couldn't come through with it, after all. She put up + a good fight, out there alone, but she had t' go under—her an' her + calf.” He stood quiet a minute, gazing and gazing. “Doggone them measly + wolves! Why in thunder can't a feller pump lead into 'em like he wants + t'?” + </p> + <p> + Chip's heart glowed within him. His technique was faulty, his colors + daring, perhaps—but his triumph was for that the greater. If men + could FEEL his pictures—and they did! That was the joy of it—they + did! + </p> + <p> + “Darn them snarlin' brutes, anyway! I thought it was doggone queer if Dell + could dab away all her life at nice, common things that you only think is + purty, an' then blossom out, all of a sudden, with one like that other was—that + yuh felt all up an' down yer back. The little cheat, she'd no business t' + take the glory uh that'n like she done. I'll give her thunder when she + gits back.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't do anything of the kind,” said Chip, quietly—too quietly + not to be menacing. “I tell you that was my fault—I gave her all I + did to the picture, and I told her not to say anything. Do you think I + don't know what I owe to her? Do you think I don't know she saved Silver's + life—and maybe mine? Forty pictures wouldn't square me with the + Little Doctor—not if they were a heap better than they are, and she + claimed every darned one. I'm doing this, and I'll thank you not to buy in + where you're not wanted. This picture is for her, too—but I don't + want the thing shouted from the housetops. When you go out, I wish you'd + shut the door.” + </p> + <p> + The Old Man, thoroughly subdued, took the hint. He went out, and he shut + the door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. — Weary Advises. + </h2> + <p> + “I have a short article here which may interest you, Miss Della,” said + Dunk, coming out on the porch a few days later with a Butte paper in his + hand. The Little Doctor was swinging leisurely in the hammock. + </p> + <p> + “It's about the picture,” he added, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “The picture? Oh, let me see!” The Little Doctor stopped the hammock with + her toe and sat up. The wind had tumbled her hair about her face and drawn + extra color to her cheeks, and she looked very sweet, Dunk thought. He + held out the paper, pointing a well-kept finger at the place he wished her + to read. There was a rather large headline, for news was scarce just then + and every little thing was made the most of. The eyes of the Little Doctor + clung greedily to the lines. + </p> + <p> + “It is reported that 'The Last Stand' has been sold. The painting, which + has been on exhibition in the lobby of the Summit Hotel, has attracted + much attention among art lovers, and many people have viewed it in the + last week. Duncan Gray Whitaker, the well-known mine owner and cattleman, + who brought the picture to Butte, is said to have received an offer which + the artist will probably accept. Mr. Whitaker still declines to give the + artist's name, but whoever he is, he certainly has a brilliant future + before him, and Montana can justly feel proud of him. It has been rumored + that the artist is a woman, but the best critics are slow to believe this, + claiming that the work has been done with a power and boldness undoubtedly + masculine. Those who have seen 'The Last Stand' will not easily forget it, + and the price offered for it is said to be a large one. Mr. Whitaker will + leave the city to-morrow to consult the unknown artist, and promises, upon + his return, to reveal the name of the modest genius who can so infuse a + bit of canvas with palpitating life.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of that? Isn't the 'modest genius' rather proud of the + hit she has made? I wish you could have seen the old stockmen stand around + it and tell wolf stories to one another by the hour. The women came and + cried over it—they were so sorry for the cow. Really, Miss Della, + she's the most famous cow in Butte, just now. I had plenty of smaller + offers, but I waited till Senator Blake came home; he's a crank on Western + pictures, and he has a long pocketbook and won't haggle over prices. He + took it, just as I expected, but he insists that the artist's name must be + attached to it; and if you take his offer, he may bring the picture down + himself—for he's quite anxious to meet you. I am to wire your + decision at once.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor watched a pale green “measuring worm” loop its way + hurriedly along the floor of the porch. She was breathing rather quickly + and unevenly, and she seemed to be thinking very fast. When the worm, + reaching the end, doubled out of sight, she started the hammock swinging + and leaned back upon her cushions. + </p> + <p> + “You may tell him to come—I should like very much to see him,” she + said. “And I am very much obliged to you for the service you have + performed.” She became very much interested in a magazine, and seemed to + dismiss Dunk and the picture entirely from her mind. Dunk, after waiting + till he was convinced she had no intention of saying more, went off to the + stables to find a messenger for the telegram, telling himself on the way + that Miss Della Whitmore was a very cool young person, and not as grateful + as he would like her to be. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor went immediately to find Chip, but that young man, who + had been just inside the window and had heard every word, was not so + easily found. He was down in the bunk house, thinking things. And when she + did find him, near supper time, he was so utterly unapproachable that her + courage and her patience failed together, and she did not mention the + picture at all. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Doctor!” It was a heartening voice, sounding very sweet to the + ears of the Little Doctor just then. She turned eagerly, her arms still + clasping Silver's neck. She had come down to the corral to feed him sugar + and tell him what a very difficult young man his master was, and how he + held her at arm's length with his manner, and yet was nice and friendly + and sunny enough—like the sun shining on an iceberg. But human + sympathy was within reach of her hand, and it was much more satisfying + than the mute sympathy of a horse. + </p> + <p> + “Weary Willy Davidson, you don't know how glad I am to see you! As the + sayin' is: 'Yuh think of angels an' their opposets ain't fur off.' I AM + glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Dirt and all?” grinned Weary, for he had ridden far in the heat, and was + dust-grimed and travelworn. He pulled the saddle off Glory, also, + travelworn and sweat-grimed, and gave him an affectionate slap of + dismissal. + </p> + <p> + “I'd chance money you wasn't thinking of me,” he said, pointedly. “How is + the old ranch, anyhow? Splinter up, yet?” + </p> + <p> + “You must think I'm a feeble excuse for a doctor,” retorted she. “Of + course he's up. He walks all around the house and yard with a cane; I + promoted him from crutches yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Good shot! That was sure a bad foot he had on him, and I didn't know—What's + he been putting in the time at? Making pictures—or love?” + </p> + <p> + “Pictures,” said the Little Doctor, hastily, laying her cheek against + Silver's mane. “I'd like to see him making love!” + </p> + <p> + “Yuh would?” said Weary, innocently, disregarding the irony of her tone. + “Well, if yuh ever do, I tell yuh right now you'll see the real thing. If + he makes love like he does other things, there won't any female girl dodge + his loop, that's straight. What about the pictures?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he drew a picture of J. G. sliding down the kitchen steps, before + he was out of bed. And he made a picture of Dunk, that time Banjo bucked + him off—you saw that happen, I suppose—and it was great! Dunk + was standing on his head in front of his horse, but I can't show you it, + because it blew out of the window and landed at Dunk's feet in the path, + and he picked it up and tore it into little bits. And he doesn't play in + Chip's yard any more.” + </p> + <p> + “He never did,” grinned Weary. “Dunk's a great hand to go around shooting + off his mouth about things he's no business to buy into, and old Splinter + let him down on his face once or twice. Chip can sure give a man a hard + fall when he wants to, and not use many words, either. What little he does + say generally counts.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor's memory squirmed assentingly. “It's the tone he uses,” + she said, reflectively. “The way he can say 'yes,' sometimes—” + </p> + <p> + “You've bumped into that, huh? Bert Rogers lit into him with a tent peg + once, for saying yes at him. They sure was busy for a few minutes. I just + sat in the shade of a wagon wheel and laughed till I near cracked a rib. + When they got through they laughed, too, and they played ten games uh pool + together that night, and got—” Weary caught himself up suddenly. + “Pool ain't any gambling game,” he hastened to explain. “It's just + knocking balls into the pockets, innocent like, yuh see.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Davidson, there's something I'd like to tell you about. Will you wait + a few minutes more for your supper?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” said Weary; wonderingly, and sat down upon the edge of the + watering trough. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor, her arms still around Silver's neck, told him all about + “The Last Stand,” and “The Spoils of Victory,” and Chip, and Dunk, and + herself. And Weary listened silently, digging little trenches in the hard + soil with the rowels of his spurs, and, knowing Chip as he did, + understanding the matter much better than did the Little Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “And he doesn't seem to know that I never meant to claim the picture as my + work, and I can't explain while he acts so—oh, you know how he can + act. And Dunk wouldn't have sold the picture if he had known Chip painted + it, and it was wrong, of course, but I did so want Chip to have some real + encouragement so he would make that his life work. YOU know he is fitted + for something better than cow-punching. And now the picture has made a hit + and brought a good price, and he must own it. Dunk will be furious, of + course, but that doesn't matter to me—it's Chip that I can't seem to + manage.” + </p> + <p> + Weary smiled queerly down at his spurs. + </p> + <p> + “It's a cinch you could manage him, easy enough, if you took the right way + to do it,” he said, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Probably the right way would be too much trouble,” said the Little + Doctor, with her chin well up. “Once I get this picture deal settled + satisfactorily, I'm quite willing to resign and let him manage himself. + Senator Blake is coming to-morrow, and I'm so glad you will be here to + help me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd sure like to see yuh through with the deal. Old Blake won't be hard + to throw—I know him, and so does Chip. Didn't he tell yuh about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me!” flashed the Little Doctor. “I told him Senator Blake was + coming, and that he wanted to buy the picture, and he just made him a + cigarette and said, 'Ye—e-es?' And after that there wasn't any + conversation of any description!” + </p> + <p> + Weary threw back his head and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “That sure sounds just like him,” he said, and at that minute Chip himself + hobbled into the corral, and the Little Doctor hastened to leave it and + retreat to the house. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. — When a Maiden Wills. + </h2> + <p> + It was Dunk who drove to meet the train, next day, and it was an extremely + nervous young woman who met Senator Blake upon the porch. Chip sprawled in + the hammock on the east porch, out of sight. + </p> + <p> + The senator was a little man whose coat did not fit, and whose hair was + sandy and sparse, and who had keen, twinkling blue eyes which managed to + see a great deal more than one would suspect from the rest of his face. He + pumped the Little Doctor's hand up and down three times and called her “My + dear young lady.” After the first ten minutes, the Little Doctor's spirits + rose considerably and her heart stopped thumping so she could hear it. She + remembered what Weary had told her—that “Old Blake won't be hard to + throw.” She no longer feared the senator, but she refused to speculate + upon what Chip might do. He seemed more approachable to-day, but that did + not count—probably he was only reflecting Weary's sunshine, and + would freeze solid the minute—“And so you are the mysterious genius + who has set the Butte critics by the ears!” chuckled the senator. “They + say your cloud treatment is all wrong, and that your coloring is too bold—but + directly they forget all that and wonder which wolf will make the first + dash, and how many the cow will put out of business before she goes under + herself. Don't be offended if I say that you look more capable of + portraying woolly white lambs at play than ravening wolves measuring the + strength of their quarry. I must confess I was looking for the—er + MAN behind that brush.” + </p> + <p> + “I told the senator coming out that it was a lady he would have to make + terms with. He would hardly believe it,” smiled Dunk. + </p> + <p> + “He needn't believe it,” said the Little Doctor, much more calmly than she + felt. “I don't remember ever saying that I painted 'The Last Stand.'” + </p> + <p> + Dunk threw up his head and looked at her sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Genius is certainly modest,” he said, with a laugh that was not nice to + hear. + </p> + <p> + “In this case, the genius is unusually modest,” assented she, getting + rather white. “Unfortunately for myself, senator, I did not paint the + 'ravening wolves' which caught your fancy. It would be utterly beyond my + brush.” + </p> + <p> + A glimmering of the truth came to Dunk, and his eyes narrowed. + </p> + <p> + “Who did paint it for you? Your friend, Chip?” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor caught her breath at the venomous accent he employed, + and the Old Man half rose from his chair. But Della could fight her own + battles. She stood up and faced Dunk, tight-lipped and proud. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Whitaker, my friend, Mr. Bennett, of whose friendship I am + rather proud, painted the best part of 'The Last Stand.'” + </p> + <p> + “Senator Blake must forgive my being misled by your previous statement + that the picture was yours,” sneered Dunk. + </p> + <p> + “I made no previous statement, Mr. Whitaker.” The Little Doctor's tone was + sweetly freezing. “I said that the picture which I had begun was finished, + and I invited you all to look at it. It was your misfortune that you took + too much for granted.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a mistake to take anything for granted where a woman is concerned. + At the same time I shouldn't be blamed if I take it for granted Chip—” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you say the rest to me, Dunk,” suggested Chip from the doorway, + where he leaned heavily upon his cane. “It begins to look as though I held + a hand in this game.” + </p> + <p> + Dunk wheeled furiously upon him. + </p> + <p> + “You're playing a high hand for a forty-dollar man,” he grated, “and + you've about reached your limit. The stakes are beyond your reach, my + friend.” + </p> + <p> + Chip went white with anger at the thrust, which struck deeper than Dunk + knew. But he stood his ground. + </p> + <p> + “Ye—es? Wait till the cards are all turned.” It turned him sick, + though, the emptiness of the boast. It was such a pitiful, ghastly bluff—for + the cards were all against him, and he knew it. A man in Gilroy, Ohio, + would take the trick which decided the game. Hearts were trumps, and Dr. + Cecil Granthum had the ace. + </p> + <p> + The little senator got out of his chair and faced Chip tactfully. + </p> + <p> + “Kid Bennett, you rascal, aren't you going to shake hands?” His own was + outstretched, waiting. + </p> + <p> + Chip crowded several hot words off his tongue, and gave up his hand for a + temporary pump handle. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Blake? I didn't think you'd remember me.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't? How could I help it? I can feel the cold of the water yet, + and your rope settling over my shoulders. You never gave me a chance to + say 'God bless you' for that; you just coiled up your rope—swearing + all the time you did it, because it was wet—and rode off, dripping + like a muskrat. What did you do it for?” + </p> + <p> + “I was in a hurry to get back to camp,” grinned Chip, sinking into a + chair. “And you weren't a senator then.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have been all the same if I had been, I reckon,” responded the + senator, shaking Chip's hand again. “Well, well! So you are the genius—that + sounds more likely. No offense, Miss Whitmore. Do you remember that + picture you drew with charcoal on a piece of pine board? It stands on the + mantel in my library, and I always point it out to my friends as the work + of a young man with a future. And you painted 'The Last Stand!' Well, + well! I think I'll have to send the price up another notch, just to get + even with you for swearing at me when my lungs were so full of water I + couldn't swear back!” + </p> + <p> + While he talked he was busy unwrapping the picture which he had brought + with him, and he reminded the Little Doctor of a loquacious peddler + opening his pack. He was much more genial and unpretentious since Chip + entered the room, and she wondered why. She wanted to ask about that + reference to the water, but he stood the painting against the wall, just + then, and she forgot everything but that. + </p> + <p> + Chip's eyes clung to the scene greedily. After all, it was his—and + he knew in his heart that it was good. After a minute he limped into his + room and brought “The Spoils of Victory,” and stood it beside “The Last + Stand.” + </p> + <p> + “A—h-h!” The senator breathed the word deep in his throat and fell + silent. Even the Old Man leaned forward in his chair that he might see the + better. The Little Doctor could not see anything, just then, but no one + noticed anything wrong with her eyes, for they were all down in the Bad + Lands, watching an old range cow defend her calf. + </p> + <p> + “Bennett, do the two go together?” asked the senator, at last. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—I painted it for Miss Whitmore,” said Chip, a dull + glow in his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor glanced at him quickly, rather startled, if the truth be + known. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that was just a joke, Mr. Bennett. I would much rather have you paint + me another one—this one makes me want to cry—and a doctor must + forego the luxury of tears. I have no claim upon either of them, Mr. + Blake. It was like this. I started 'The Last Stand,' but I only had the + background painted, and one day while I was gone Mr. Bennett finished it + up—and it is his work that makes the picture worth anything. I let + it pass as mine, for the time, but I never intended to wear the laurel + crown, really. I only borrowed it for a little while. I hope you can make + Mr. Bennett behave himself and put his brand on it, for if he doesn't it + will go down to posterity unsigned. This other—'The Spoils of + Victory'—he cannot attempt to disown, for I was away at Great Falls + when he painted it, and he was here alone, so far as help of any kind is + concerned. Now do make him be sensible!” + </p> + <p> + The senator looked at Chip, then at the Little Doctor, chuckled and sat + down on the couch. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! Kid Bennett hasn't changed, I see. He's just as ornery as he + ever was. And you're the mysterious, modest genius! How did you come out + after that dip into the old Missouri?” he asked, abruptly. “You didn't + take cold, riding in those wet clothes, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “I? No, I was all right. I stopped at that sheep camp and borrowed some + dry clothes.” Chip was very uncomfortable. He wished Blake wouldn't keep + bringing up that affair, which was four years old and quite trivial, in + his opinion. It was a good thing Dunk pulled out when he saw he'd got the + worst of it, or there'd have been trouble, most likely. And Blake— + The senator went on, addressing the others. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what this young fellow did, four years ago this last spring? + I tried to cross the river near my place in a little boat, while the water + was high. Bennett, here, came along and swore that a man with no more + sense than I had ought to drown—which was very true, I admit. I had + just got out a nice little distance for drowning properly, when a tree + came bobbing along and upset my boat, and Kid Bennett, as we called him + then, rode in as far as he could—which was a great deal further than + was safe for him—and roped me, just as he would have roped a + yearling. Ha! ha! I can see him yet, scowling at me and whirling the loop + over his head ready to throw. A picture of THAT, now! When he had dragged + me to the bank he used some rather strong language—a cowboy does + hate to wet his rope—and rode off before I had a chance to thank + him. This is the first time I've seen him since then.” + </p> + <p> + Chip got very red. + </p> + <p> + “I was young and foolish, those days, and you weren't a senator,” he + repeated, apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “My being a senator wouldn't have mattered at all. They've been changing + your name, over this side the river, I see. How did that happen?” + </p> + <p> + Again Chip was uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “We've got a cook that is out of sight when it comes to Saratoga chips, + and I'm a fiend for them, you see. The boys got to calling me Saratoga + Chip, and then they cut it down to Chip and stuck to it.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. There was a fellow with you over there—Davidson. What has + become of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Weary? He works here, too. He's down in the bunk house now, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! Let's go and hunt him up—and we can settle about the + pictures at the same time. You seem to be crippled. How did that happen? + Some dare-devil performance, I expect.” + </p> + <p> + The senator smiled reassuringly at the Little Doctor and got Chip out of + the house and down in the bunk house with Weary, and whatever means he + used to make Chip “behave himself,” they certainly were a success. For + when he left, the next day, he left behind him a check of generous size, + and Chip was not so aloof as he had been with the Little Doctor, and + planned with her at least a dozen pictures which he meant to paint some + time. + </p> + <p> + There was one which he did paint at once, however—though no one saw + it but Della. It was the picture of a slim young woman with gray eyes and + an old felt hat on her head, standing with her fingers tangled in the mane + of a chestnut horse. + </p> + <p> + If there was a heartache in the work, if the brush touched the slim figure + caressingly and lingered wistfully upon the face, no one knew but Chip, + and Chip had learned long ago to keep his own counsel. There were some + thoughts which he could not whisper into even Silver's ear. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. — Dr. Cecil Granthum. + </h2> + <p> + The Little Doctor leaned from the window and called down the hill to her + recovered patient—more properly, her nearly recovered patient; for + Chip still walked with the aid of a cane, though by making use of only one + stirrup he could ride very well. He limped up the hill to her, and sat + down on the top step of the porch. + </p> + <p> + “What's the excitement now?” he asked, banteringly. + </p> + <p> + “I've got the best, the most SPLENDID news—you couldn't guess what + in a thousand years!” + </p> + <p> + “Then I won't try. It's too hot.” Chip took off his hat and fanned himself + with it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, can't you LOOK a little bit excited? Try and look the way I feel! + Anybody as cool as you are shouldn't suffer with the heat.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—I get pretty hot, sometimes. Well, what is the most + splendid news? Can't you tell a fellow, after calling him up here in the + hot sun?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, listen. The Gilroy hospital—you know, where Cecil is”—Chip + knew—“has a case of blighted love and shattered hopes”—Chip's + foolish, man-heart nearly turned a somersault. Was it possible?—“and + it's the luckiest thing ever happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” Chip wished to goodness she would get to the point. She could be + direct enough in her statements when what she said was going to hurt a + fellow. His heart was thumping so it hurt him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. A doctor there was planning to get married and go away on his + honeymoon, you know—” + </p> + <p> + Chip nodded, half suffocated with crowding, incredulous hopes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and now he isn't. His ladylove was faithless and loves another, and + his honeymoon is indefinitely postponed. Do you see now where the good + news comes in?” + </p> + <p> + Chip shook his head once and looked away up the grade. Funny, but + something had gone wrong with his throat. He was half choked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you ARE dull! Now that fellow isn't going to have any vacation, so + Cecil can come out, right away! Next week! Think of it!” + </p> + <p> + Chip tried to think of it, but he couldn't think of anything, just then. + He was only conscious of wishing Whizzer had made a finish of the job, up + there on the Hog's Back that day. His heart no longer thumped—it was + throbbing in a tired, listless fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Why can't you look a little bit pleased?” smiled the torturer from the + window. “You sit there like a—an Indian before a cigar store. You've + just about the same expression.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it. I never was fierce to meet strangers, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “Judging from my own experience, I think you are uncommonly fierce at + meeting strangers. I haven't forgotten how unmercifully you snubbed me + when I came to the ranch, or how you risked my neck on the grade, up + there, trying to make me scared enough to scream. I didn't, though! I + wanted to, I'll admit, when you made the horses run down the steepest part—but + I didn't, and so I could easily forgive you.” + </p> + <p> + “Could you?” said Chip, in a colorless tone. + </p> + <p> + “If you had gained your object, I couldn't have,” remarked she. + </p> + <p> + “I did, though.” + </p> + <p> + “You did? Didn't you do it just to frighten me?” + </p> + <p> + Chip gave her a glance of weary tolerance. “You must think I've about as + much sense as a jack rabbit; I was taking long chances to run that hill.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for pity's sake, what did you do it for?” + </p> + <p> + “It was the only thing to do. How do you think we'd have come out of the + mix-up if we had met Banjo on the Hog's Back, where there isn't room to + pass? Don't you think we'd have been pretty well smashed up, both of us, + by the time we got to the bottom of that gully, there? A runaway horse is + a nasty thing to meet, let me tell you—especially when it's as + scared as Banjo was. They won't turn out; they just go straight ahead, and + let the other fellow get out of the way if he can.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I thought you did it just for a joke,” said the Little Doctor, + weakly. “I told Cecil you did it to frighten me, and Cecil said—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you need to tell me what Cecil said,” Chip remarked, with + the quiet tone that made one very uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't anything so dreadful, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to know. When is he coming, did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Next Wednesday—and this is Friday. I know you'll like Cecil.” + </p> + <p> + Chip made him a cigarette, but he hadn't heart enough to light it. He held + it absently in his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody likes Cecil.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” Secretly, Chip had his doubts. He knew one that didn't—and + wouldn't. + </p> + <p> + “We'll have all kinds of fun, and go everywhere and do everything. As soon + as the round-up is over, I think I'll make J. G. give another dance, but + I'll take care that the drug store is safely locked away. And some day + we'll take a lunch and go prowling around down in the Bad Lands—you'll + have to go, so we won't get lost—and we'll have Len Adams and Rena + and the schoolma'am over here often, and—oh, my brain just buzzes + with plans. I'm so anxious for Cecil to see the Countess and—well, + everybody around here. You, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure a curiosity,” said Chip, getting on his feet again. “I've always + had the name of being something of a freak—I don't wonder you want + to exhibit me to your—friends.” He went down the hill to the bunk + house, holding the unlighted cigarette still in his fingers. + </p> + <p> + When Slim opened the door to tell him supper was ready, he found Chip + lying on his bed, his face buried in his arms. + </p> + <p> + If Chip never had understood before how a man can stand up straight on the + gallows, throw back his shoulders and smile at his executioner, he learned + the secret during that twenty-two mile drive to Dry Lake with the Little + Doctor. He would have shirked the ordeal gladly, and laid awake o' nights + planning subterfuges that would relieve him, but the Little Doctor seemed + almost malignantly innocent and managed to checkmate every turn. She could + not trust anyone else to manage the creams; she was afraid Slim might get + drunk while they waited for the train, or forget his duties in a game. She + hated J. G.'s way of fussing over trifles, and wouldn't have him along. + Chip was not able to help much with the ranch work, and she knew he could + manage the horses so much better than anyone else—and Cecil had been + in a runaway once, and so was dreadfully nervous behind a strange team—which + last declaration set Chip's lips a-curl. + </p> + <p> + The woman usually does have her own way in the end, and so Chip marched to + the gallows with his chin well up, smiling at his executioner. + </p> + <p> + The train was late. The Little Doctor waited in the hotel parlor, and Chip + waited in the hotel saloon, longing to turn a deluge of whisky down his + throat to deaden that unbearable, heavy ache in his heart—but + instead he played pool with Bert Rogers, who happened to be in town that + day, and took cigars after each game instead of whiskey, varying the + monotony occasionally by lemon soda, till he was fairly sick. + </p> + <p> + Then the station agent telephoned up that the train was coming, and Chip + threw down his billiard cue, swallowed another glass of lemon soda and + gagged over it, sent Bert Rogers to tell the Little Doctor the train was + coming, and went after the team. + </p> + <p> + He let the creams lope in the harness all the way to the depot, excusing + himself on the plea that the time was short; the fact was, Chip wanted the + agony over as soon as possible; nothing so wears a man's patients as to + have a disagreeable duty drag. At the depot he drove around to the back + where freight was unloaded, with the explanation that the creams were + afraid of the train—and the fact of that matter was, that Chip was + afraid Dr. Cecil might greet the Little Doctor with a kiss—he'd be a + fool if he didn't—and Chip did not want to witness the salute. + </p> + <p> + Sitting with his well foot in the brake, he pictured the scene on the + other side of the building when the train pulled in and stopped. He could + not hear much, on account of the noise the engine made pumping air, but he + could guess about what was taking place. Now, the fellow was on the + platform, probably, and he had a suit case in one hand and a light tan + overcoat over the other arm, and now he was advancing toward the Little + Doctor, who would have grown shy and remained by the waiting-room door. + Now he had changed his suit case to the other hand, and was bending down + over—oh, hell! He'd settle up with the Old Man and pull out, back + across the river. Old Blake would give him work on his ranch over there, + that was a cinch. And the Little Doctor could have her Cecil and be hanged + to him. He would go to-morrow—er—no, he'd have to wait till + Silver was able to make the trip, for he wouldn't leave him behind. No, he + couldn't go just yet—he'd have to stay with the deal another month. + He wouldn't stay a day longer than he had to, thought you could gamble on + that. + </p> + <p> + There—the train was sliding out—say, what if the fellow hadn't + come, though? Such a possibility had not before occurred to Chip—wouldn't + the Little Doctor be fighty, though? Serve her right, the little flirt—er—no, + he couldn't think anything against the Little Doctor, no matter what she + did. No, he'd sure hate to see her disappointed—still, if the fellow + HADN'T come, Chip wouldn't be to blame for that, and Dr. Cecil—“Can't + you drive around to the platform now, to load in the trunk?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” said Chip, with deceitful cheerfulness, and took his foot off the + brake, while the Little Doctor went back to her Cecil. + </p> + <p> + The agent had the trunk on the baggage truck and trundled it along the + platform, and Chip's eyes searched for his enemy. They were in the waiting + room; he could hear that laugh of the Little Doctor's—Lord, how he + hated to hear it—directed at some other fellow, that is. Yes, there + was the suit case—it looked just as he had expected it would—and + there was a glimpse of tan cloth just inside the door. Chip turned to help + the agent push the suit case under the seat, where it was an exceeding + tight fit getting it there, with the trunk taking up so much room. + </p> + <p> + When he straightened up the Little Doctor stood ready to get into the + buggy, and behind her stood Dr. Cecil Granthum, smiling in a way that + disclosed some very nice teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Cecil, this is Mr. Bennett—the 'Chip' that I have mentioned as + being at the ranch. Chip, allow me to present Dr. Cecil Granthum.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Cecil advanced with hand out invitingly. “I've heard so much about + Chip that I feel very well acquainted. I hope you won't expect me to call + you Mr. Bennett, for I shan't, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Too utterly at sea to make reply, Chip took the offered hand in his. Hate + Dr. Cecil? How could he hate this big, breezy, blue-eyed young woman? She + shook his hand heartily and smiled deep into his troubled eyes, and drew + the poison from his wounds in that one glance. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor plumped into the seat and made room for Cecil, like the + spoiled little girl that she was, compared with the other. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to sit in the middle. Cecil, you're the biggest and you can + easily hang on—and, beside, this young man is so fierce with + strangers that he'd snub you something awful if we'd give him a chance. + He's been scheming, ever since I told him you were coming, to get out of + driving in to meet you. He tried to make me take Slim. Slim!” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Cecil smiled at Chip behind the Little Doctor's back, and Chip could + have hugged her then and there, for he knew, somehow, that she understood + and was his friend. + </p> + <p> + I should like very much to say that it seemed to Chip that the sun shone + brighter, and that the grass was greener, and the sky several shades + bluer, on that homeward drive—but I must record the facts, which are + these: + </p> + <p> + Chip did not know whether the sun shone or the moon, and he didn't care—just + so there was light to see the hair blowing about the Little Doctor's face, + and to watch the dimple come and go in the cheek next him. And whether the + grass was green and the sky blue, or whether the reverse was the case, he + didn't know; and if you had asked him, he might have said tersely that he + didn't care a darn about the grass—that is, if he gave you + sufficient attention to reply at all. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. — Love Finds Its Hour. + </h2> + <p> + “Bay Denver's broke out uh the little pasture,” announced the Old Man, + putting his head in at the door of the blacksmith shop where Chip was + hammering gayly upon a bent branding iron, for want of a better way to + kill time and give vent to his surplus energy. “I wish you'd saddle up an' + go after him, Chip, if yuh can. I just seen him takin' down the coulee + trail like a scared coyote.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, I'll go. Darn that old villain, he'd jump a fence forty feet high + if he took a notion that way.” Chip threw down the hammer and reached for + his coat. + </p> + <p> + “I guess the fence must be down som'ers. I'll go take a look. Say! Dell + ain't come back from Denson's yit. Yuh want t' watch out Denver don't meet + her—he'd scare the liver out uh her.” + </p> + <p> + Chip was well aware that the Little Doctor had not returned from Denson's, + where she had been summoned to attend one of the children, who had run a + rusty nail into her foot. She had gone alone, for Dr. Cecil was learning + to make bread, and had refused to budge from the kitchen till her first + batch was safely baked. + </p> + <p> + Chip limped hurriedly to the corral, and two minutes later was clattering + down the coulee upon Blazes, after the runaway. + </p> + <p> + Denver was a beautiful bay stallion, the pride and terror of the ranch. He + was noted for his speed and his vindictive hatred of the more plebeian + horses, scarcely one of which but had, at some time, felt his teeth in + their flesh—and he was hated and feared by them all. + </p> + <p> + He stopped at the place where the trail forked, tossed his crinkly mane + triumphantly and looked back. Freedom was sweet to him—sweet as it + was rare. His world was a roomy box stall with a small, high corral + adjoining it for exercise, with an occasional day in the little pasture as + a great treat. Two miles was a long, long way from home, it seemed to him. + He watched the hill behind a moment, threw up his head and trotted off up + the trail to Denson's. + </p> + <p> + Chip, galloping madly, caught a glimpse of the fugitive a mile away, set + his teeth together, and swung Blazes sharply off the trail into a bypath + which intersected the road further on. He hoped the Little Doctor was safe + at Denson's, but at that very moment he saw her ride slowly over a distant + ridge. + </p> + <p> + Now there was a race; Denver, cantering gleefully down the trail, Chip + spurring desperately across the prairie. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor had disappeared into a hollow with Concho pacing slowly, + half asleep, the reins drooping low on his neck. The Little Doctor loved + to dream along the road, and Concho had learned to do likewise—and + to enjoy it very much. + </p> + <p> + At the crest of the next hill she looked up, saw herself the apex of a + rapidly shortening triangle, and grasped instantly the situation; she had + peeped admiringly and fearsomely between the stout rails of the little, + round corral too often not to know Denver when she saw him, and in a panic + turned from the trail toward Chip. Concho was rudely awakened by a + stinging blow from her whip—a blow which filled him with + astonishment and reproach. He laid back his ears and galloped angrily—not + in the path—the Little Doctor was too frightened for that—but + straight as a hawk would fly. Denver, marking Concho for his prey and not + to be easily cheated, turned and followed. + </p> + <p> + Chip swore inwardly and kept straight ahead, leaving the path himself to + do so. He knew a deep washout lay now between himself and the Little + Doctor, and his only hope was to get within speaking distance before she + was overtaken. + </p> + <p> + Concho fled to the very brink of the washout and stopped so suddenly that + his forefeet plowed a furrow in the grass, and the Little Doctor came near + going clean over his head. She recovered her balance, and cast a + frightened glance over her shoulder; Denver was rushing down upon them + like an express train. + </p> + <p> + “Get off—your—H-O-R-S-E!” shouted Chip, making a trumpet of + his hands. “Fight Denver off—with—your whip!” + </p> + <p> + The last command the Little Doctor did not hear distinctly. The first she + made haste to obey. Throwing herself from the saddle, she slid + precipitately into the washout just as Denver thundered up, snorting a + challenge. Concho, scared out of his wits, turned and tore off down the + washout, whipped around the end of it and made for home, his enemy at his + heels and Chip after the two of them, leaning low over his horse as + Blazes, catching the excitement and urged by the spurs, ran like an + antelope. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor, climbing the steep bank to level ground, gazed after + the fleeing group with consternation. Here was she a long four miles from + home—five, if she followed the windings of the trail—and it + looked very much as if her two feet must take her there. The prospect was + not an enlivening one, but she started off across the prairie very + philosophically at first, very dejectedly later on, and very angrily at + last. The sun was scorching, and it was dinner time, and she was hungry, + and hot, and tired, and—“mad.” She did not bless her rescuer; she + heaped maledictions upon his head—mild ones at first, but growing + perceptibly more forcible and less genteel as the way grew rougher, and + her feet grew wearier, and her stomach emptier. Then, as if her troubles + were all to come in a lump—as they have a way of doing—she + stepped squarely into a bunch of “pincushion” cactus. + </p> + <p> + “I just HATE Montana!” she burst out, vehemently, blinking back some + tears. “I don't care if Cecil did just come day before yesterday—I + shall pack up and go back home. She can stay if she wants to, but I won't + live here another day. I hate Chip Bennett, too, and I'll tell him so if I + ever get home. I don't see what J. G.'s thinking of, to live in such a + God-forgotten hole, where there's nothing but miles upon miles of cactuses—” + The downfall of Eastern up-bringing! To deliberately say “cactuses”—but + the provocation was great, I admit. If any man doubts, let him tread + thin-shod upon a healthy little “pincushion” and be convinced. I think he + will confess that “cactuses” is an exceedingly conservative epithet, and + all too mild for the occasion. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, Chip, leading Concho by the bridle rein, rode over the + brow of a hill and came suddenly upon the Little Doctor, sitting + disconsolately upon a rock. She had one shoe off, and was striving + petulantly to extract a cactus thorn from the leather with a hat pin. Chip + rode close and stopped, regarding her with satisfaction from the saddle. + It was the first time he had succeeded in finding the Little Doctor alone + since the arrival of Dr. Cecil Granthum—God bless her! + </p> + <p> + “Hello! What you trying to do?” + </p> + <p> + No answer. The Little Doctor refused even to lift her lashes, which were + wet and clung together in little groups of two or three. Chip also + observed that there were suggestive streaks upon her cheeks—and not + a sign of a dimple anywhere. He lifted one leg over the horn of the saddle + to ease his ankle, which still pained him a little after a ride, and + watched her a moment. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Doctor? Step on a cactus?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” snapped the Doctor in a tone to take one's head off, “I didn't + step on a cactus—I just walked all over acres and acres of them!” + </p> + <p> + There was a suspicious gurgle from somewhere. The Little Doctor looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Don't hesitate to laugh, Mr. Bennett, if you happen to feel that way!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bennett evidently felt that way. He rocked in the saddle, and shouted + with laughter. The Little Doctor stood this for as much as a minute. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no doubt it's very funny to set me afoot away off from everywhere—” + Her voice quivered and broke from self-pity; her head bent lower over her + shoe. + </p> + <p> + Chip made haste to stifle his mirth, in fear that she was going to cry. He + couldn't have endured that. He reached for his tobacco and began to make a + cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't set you afoot,” he said. “That was a bad break you made + yourself. Why didn't you do as I told you—hang to the bridle and + fight Denver off with your whip? You had one.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and let him gnaw me!” + </p> + <p> + Chip gurgled again, and drew the tobacco sack shut with his teeth. “He + wouldn't 'gnaw' you—he wouldn't have come near you. He's whip + trained. And I'd have been there myself in another minute.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't want you there! And I don't pretend to be a horse-trainer, Mr. + Bennett. There's several things about your old ranch life that I don't + know—and don't want to know! I'm going back to Ohio to-morrow, so + there!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” He drew a match sharply along his stamped saddle-skirt and applied + it to the cigarette, pinched out the blaze with extreme care, and tossed + the match-end facetiously against Concho's nose. He did not seem + particularly alarmed at her threat—or, perhaps, he did not care. The + Little Doctor prodded savagely at her shoe, too angry to see the thorn, + and Chip drove another nail into his coffin with apparent relish, and + watched her. After a little, he slid to the ground and limped over to her. + </p> + <p> + “Here, give me that shoe; you'll have it all picked to pieces and not get + the thorn, either. Where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “IT?” sniffed the Little Doctor, surrendering the shoe with hypocritical + reluctance. “It? There's a dozen, at the very least!” + </p> + <p> + Chip emptied his lungs of smoke, and turned the shoe in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I guess not—there isn't room in this little bit of leather for + a dozen. Two would be crowded.” + </p> + <p> + “I detest flattery above all things!” But, being a woman, the brow of the + Little Doctor cleared perceptibly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes? You're just like me in that respect. I love the truth.” + </p> + <p> + Thinking of Dr. Cecil, the Little Doctor grew guiltily red. But she had + never said Cecil was a man, she reflected, with what comfort she could. + The boys, like Dunk, had simply made the mistake of taking too much for + granted. + </p> + <p> + Chip opened the smallest blade of his knife deliberately, sat down upon a + neighboring rock and finished his cigarette, still turning the shoe + reflectively—and caressingly—in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I'd smile to see the Countess try to put that shoe on,” he remarked, + holding the cigarette in some mysterious manner on his lip. “I'll bet she + couldn't get one toe in it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see that it matters, whether she could or not,” snapped the + Little Doctor. “For goodness sake, hurry!” + </p> + <p> + “You're pretty mad, aren't you?” inquired he, shoving his hat back off his + forehead, and looking at her as though he enjoyed doing so. + </p> + <p> + “Do I look mad?” asked she, tartly. + </p> + <p> + “I'd tell a man you do!” + </p> + <p> + “Well—my appearance doesn't half express the state of my mind!” + </p> + <p> + “Your mind must be in an awful state.” + </p> + <p> + “It is.” + </p> + <p> + Two minutes passed silently. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Cecil's bread is done—she gave me a slice as big as your hat, + with butter and jelly on it. It was out of sight.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor groaned, and rallied. + </p> + <p> + “Butter and jelly on my hat, did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your hat—on the bread. I ate it coming back down the coulee—and + I sure had my hands full, leading Concho, too.” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor held back the question trembling on her hungry, parched + lips as long as she could, but it would come. + </p> + <p> + “Was it good?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd tell a man!” said Chip, briefly and eloquently. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Cecil Granthum's a mighty good fellow—I'm stuck on him, myself—and + if I haven't got the symptoms sized up wrong, the Old Man's GOING to be.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all the good it will do him. Cecil and I are going somewhere and + practice medicine together—and we aren't either of us going to get + married, ever!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you got the papers for that?” grinned Chip, utterly unmoved. + </p> + <p> + “I have my license,” said the Little Doctor, coldly. + </p> + <p> + “You're ahead of me there, for I haven't—yet. I can soon get one, + though.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to goodness you'd hurry up with that shoe! I'm half starved.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, show me a dimple and you can have it. My, you are cranky!” + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor showed him two, and Chip laid the shoe in her lap—after + he had surprised himself, and the doctor, by planting a daring little kiss + upon the toe. + </p> + <p> + “The idea!” exclaimed she, with a feeble show of indignation, and slipped + her foot hurriedly into its orthodox covering. Feeling his inscrutable, + hazel eyes upon her, she blushed uncomfortably and fumbled the laces. + </p> + <p> + “You better let me lace that shoe—you won't have it done in a + thousand years, at that gait.” + </p> + <p> + “If you're in a hurry,” said she, without looking at him, “you can ride on + ahead. It would please me better if you did.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? You've been pleased all summer—at my expense. I'm going to + please myself, this time. It's my deal, Little Doctor. Do you want to know + what's trumps?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't!” Still without looking at him, she tied her shoelaces with + an impatient twitch that came near breaking them, and walked haughtily to + where Concho stood dutifully waiting. With an impulsive movement, she + threw her arms around his neck, and hid her hot face against his scanty + mane. + </p> + <p> + A pair of arms clad in pink-and-white striped sleeves went suddenly about + her. Her clasp on Concho loosened and she threw back her head, startled—to + be still more startled at the touch of lips that were curved and thin and + masterful. The arms whirled her about and held her against a heart which + her trained senses knew at once was beating very irregularly. + </p> + <p> + “You—you ought to be ashamed!” she asserted feebly, at last. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not, though.” The arms tightened their clasp a little. + </p> + <p> + “You—you don't SEEM to be,” admitted the Little Doctor, meekly. + </p> + <p> + For answer he kissed her hungrily—not once, but many times. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you going to let me go?” she demanded, afterward, but very + faintly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, boldly. “I'm going to keep you—always.” There was + conviction in the tone. + </p> + <p> + She stood silent a minute, listening to his heart and her own, and + digesting this bit of news. + </p> + <p> + “Are you—quite sure about—that?” she asked at length. + </p> + <p> + “I'd tell a man! Unless”—he held her off and looked at her—“you + don't like me. But you do, don't you?” His eyes were searching her face. + </p> + <p> + The Little Doctor struggled to release herself from the arms which held + her unyieldingly and tenderly. Failing this, she raised her eyes to the + white silk handkerchief knotted around his throat; to the chin; to the + lips, wistful with their well defined curve; to the eyes, where they + lingered shyly a moment, and then looked away to the horizon. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you like me? Say!” He gave her a gentle shake. + </p> + <p> + “Ye—er-it doesn't seem to matter, whether I do or not,” she retorted + with growing spirit—witness the dimple dodging into her cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it does—it matters a whole heap. You've dealt me misery ever + since I first set eyes on you—and I believe, on my soul, you liked + to watch me squirm! But you do like me, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I'd tell a man!” said she, and immediately hid a very red face + from sight of him. + </p> + <p> + Concho turned his head and gazed wonderingly upon the two. What amazed him + was to see Chip kissing his mistress again and again, and to hear the + idolatrous tone in which he was saying “MY Little Doctor!” + </p> + <p> + THE END. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Chip, of the Flying U, by B. M. Bower + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHIP, OF THE FLYING U *** + +***** This file should be named 9267-h.htm or 9267-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/2/6/9267/ + +Produced by Matthew H. 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